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THE  FELON'S  BEQUEST. 


A  TTOYEL  OF  THE  PEISOH  AID  THE  BOUDOIR. 


BY 


FORTUNE  DUBOISGOBEY, 

AuTHOB  OF  "Pabisian  Dktectivb,"  Ac.,  &0, 


NEW  YORK: 

HUEST   &   CO.,   PUBLISHEBS, 

122  NASSAU  ST, 


CONTENTS, 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  A  FiBST  Glimpse  of  the  Bequest,           .  -           3 

II.  Thk  Stricken  Deer,                -             -             -  -  10 

m.  A  Gleam  of  Sunshine,    -             -             -  -          17 

IT.  The  Queen  of  the  Lions,    -             -             -  -   27 

Y.  A  New  Monte  Ckisto,    -             .            -  -          34 

VI.  The  Brazieb  of  Charcoal,                -             -  -   40 

VII.  A  Millionaire's  Perplexities,  -             .  -          48 

Vm.  A  Rough  Wooing,                 -             -             -  -    52 

IX.  Poverty's  Banker,           -             -             -  -          59 

X.  Plans  for  the  Future,        -             -             -  -    65 

XI.  A  Stumble  on  the  Threshold,               -  -          78 

XII.  An  Unholy  Compact,            -             -             -  -    86 

Xni.  A  Slighted  Woman,        .             _             .  .          pc 

XIV.  A  Forced  Sale,        -             -             -             -  103 

XV.  "  Halves,  "          -             -             -             -  -        114 

XVI.  The  Lube   of  the  Fowleb,               -             -  121 

XVn.  A  Parisian  Seraglio,     -             -             -  .        126 

XVIII.  In  the  Tiger's  Cage,           ...  129 

XIX.  "Can  We  not  Trust  Each  Other?"    -  -        135 

XX.  A  Pennt-a-Lineb,      ....  146 

XXI.  The  Murder  at  Mgntmabtbe,    ...        154 

XXII.  "  And  Slander  -with  Her  Venombd   Tongue,  "        164 

XXIII.  A  First  Xight,         ....  170 

XXIV.  A  Scene  from  Antique  Rome,   -             -  -        181 
XXV.  A  Scene  in  Modern  Pakis,               -             -  188 

XXVI.  What  They  Caught  in  the  Trap,           -  -        199 

XXVII.  "A  Skeleton  Form  Lay  Mouldering  There,"         208 

XXVni.  Pierre  Tbouillard  Speaks,               -             -  214 

XXIX.  Hunted  Down,  ....        223 

XXX.  A  Woman's  Devotion,            ...  233 

XXXI.  Trouillard's  Daughter,  ...        243 

Epilogue           ......  g50 


THE  FELON'S  BEflllEST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A   FIRST    GLIMPSE  OF   THE   BEQUEST. 

A  BRIGHT  December  day,  a  clear  blue  sky  overhead,  and 
a  cold,  invigoratiug  breeze  blowing,  one  of  those  days 
on  which  the  Parisians  love  to  walk  ou  the  boulevards. 

The  men  bury  their  hands  iu  the  pockets  of  their  over- 
coats, and  with  their  sticks  tucked  away  under  their  ai*m, 
mo-ve  along  briskly,  in  order  to  promote  circulation.  The 
women  make  the  heels  of  their  little  boots  ring  on  the 
asphalte,  and  as  they  gaze  in  at  the  shop  windows  cast 
sly  glances  at  the  passers-by  through  their  veils.  There 
is  nothing  more  pleasant  in  life  than  to  be  able  to  go 
wherever  one's  fancy  leads  one,  and  to  have  no  given  duty 
to  perform. 

The  pi'isoners  in  Mazas  are  taking  exercise,  too,  but  in 
rather  a  different  manner.  In  this  age  of  progress,  prison 
arrangements  have  been  brought  to  a  pitch  of  perfection; 
and  the  difficult  problem  has  been  solved  of  enabling 
many  different  persons  to  take  exercise  at  the  same  time, 
and  in  the  same  plot  of  ground,  without  catching  a 
glimpse  of  each  other,  and  this,  too,  is  done  without  cov- 
ering the  prisoner's  head  with  a  hood,  as  is  done  in  the 
Belgian  Penitentiaries.  The  plan  upon  which  the  prison 
of  Mazas  is  built  somewhat  resembles  an  open  fan,  which 
has  six  sticks,  represented  by  six  long  three-storied  gal- 
leries, all  converging  to  one  common  point,  which  forms 

2129408 


4  THE  FELON  S  BEQUEST. 

the  button  at  the  handle  of  the  fan.  Outside,  in  the  space 
between  the  galleries,  exercise  grounds  have  been  formed. 
Each  of  these  is  in  the  form  of  a  wheel,  the  nave  of  which 
is  a  tower,  upon  the  summit  of  which  stands  a  warder, 
whilst  the  spokes  are  the  exercise  grounds,  separated  one 
from  the  other  by  high  walls.  They  run  from  the  central 
tower  to  a  gate  at  which  another  warder  is  posted.  Dur- 
ing the  hour  allotted  for  exercise,  the  prisoners  are  fdaced 
in  these  open  passages  hke  bears  in  a  pit,  without  any 
possibility  of  communicating  with  their  next  door  neigh- 
bors. They  are  brought  from  their  cells,  and  taken  back 
again  after  the  expiration  of  the  hour,  without  crossing 
each  other  on  the  way.  The  poor  caged  birds  march 
backwards  and  forwards  in  these  triangular  spaces,  in 
which  they  cannot  take  more  than  fifteen  steps  in  the 
same  direction,  with  melancholy  faces,  trampHng  the 
gravel  under  foot,  and  seeking  for  the  shade  in  summer 
and  the  sun  in  winter.  Some  smoke;  those,  that  is,  that 
have  a  few  pence  to  buy  tobacco,  whilst  others  talk  to 
themselves.  They  do  not  shout  out  or  sing,  for  it  is  for- 
bidden, and  they  have  besides  no  incHnation  to  do  so. 
They  drag  themselves  slowly  along,  with  their  backs  bent 
as  though  carrying  some  ponderous  burden.  The  whole 
enormous  weight  of  the  prison  seems  to  be  placed  on  their 
shoulders.  Many  of  them  do  not  even  attempt  to  think, 
but  live  mechanically,  Uke  wild  beasts  in  a  cage.  But 
there  is  no  rule  without  an  exception,  and  one  day, 
towards  the  end  of  last  year,  the  warder  was  sur- 
prised to  see,  from  his  post  of  observation,  one  of  the 
prisoners  walking  in  his  exercise  ground  with  an  easy, 
careless  step.  He  was  smoking  a  cigar,  and  every  now 
and  then  he  would  stop  to  watch  the  spiral  curls  of  smoke 
float  away  in  the  air.  He  looked  more  like  a  gentleman 
who  had  just  eaten  an  excellent  breakfast,  and  was  stroll- 
ing about  to  promote  digestion,  than  a  prisoner. 

This  contented  prisoner  wore  a  comfortable  great  coat 
with  a  fur  collar;  he  had  a  travelling  cap  on  his  head,  and 
looked  like  a  Russian  prince  on  his  travels. 

"  He  must  be  some  financier  who  has  ruined  his  poor 
dupes  of  shai'eholders,  or  a  cashier  who  has  robbed  the 
till;  the  poor  devils  on  the  other  side,  shivering  in  their 
blouses,  are  worth  a  dozen  of  him,"  thought  the  warder, 


THE  felon's  bequest.  5 

as  he  every  now  and  again  caught  sight  of  the  man  in  the 
fur-collared  coat. 

But  the  prisoner  had  never  been  either  a  cashier  or  a 
rich  financier,  although  he  made  a  good  deal  of  money. 
George  Cransac  was  simply  an  outside  operator  on  the 
Stock  Exchange,  and  an  unfortunate  event  had  caused  him 
to  be  arrested  and  remanded.  His  employer's  signature 
had  been  imitated  on  a  check,  and  the  forgery  had  been 
detected  the  day  after  it  had  been  paid.  It  Avas  no  use 
for  Cransac  to  protest  that  be  had  been  mistaken  for 
some  one  bearing  a  resemblance  to  him;  he  was  given  in 
charge  at  once,  and  for  the  last  ten  days  had  been  in 
Mazas  prison.  But  his  last  examination  had  turned  out 
favorable  to  him,  and  he  had  been  able  to  prove  to  the 
magistrate  that  at  the  time  when  the  unknown  forger 
was  cashing  the  check  at  the  Credit  Lyonnais,  he,  Cran- 
sac, was  taking  instructions  from  one  of  his  employer's 
clients  who  resided  in  the  Avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 
An  alibi  being  thus  proved,  the  order  for  his  release 
might  be  expected  at  any  moment.  He  had  good  reason, 
therefore,  to  feel  comfortable,  for  it  is  easier  to  enter 
Mazas  than  to  leave  it. 

He  had  not  really  suffered  much,  for  knowing  that  he 
was  quite  innocent,  he  never  believed  that  he  would 
remain  in  prison  for  long.  He  had  even  seized  the  oppor- 
tunity of  his  stay  in  the  grim  precincts  of  the  prison  to 
take  various  mental  notes,  with  which  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  regale  his  friends  when  he  should  be  once  again 
outside  the  walls;  for  he  imagined  that  he  would  be 
received  by  them  on  his  release  like  a  shipwrecked 
mariner  cast  upon  some  unknown  coast. 

At  twenty-five  years  of  age  a  man  always  looks  on  the 
bright  side  of  things,  and  George  Cransac  had  been 
twenty-five,  six  weeks  ago.  He  was  clever,  good-looking, 
and  a  favorite  with  the  fair  sex,  and  earned  money 
enough  to  satisfy  all  his  pleasures.  Why,  then,  should 
he  not  look  on  the  rosy  side  of  life  ?  As  he  walked  quickly 
backwards  and  forwards,  thinking  of  the  manner  in  which 
he  would  employ  his  first  day  of  liberty,  a  pebble  thrown 
over  the  wall  fell  at  his  feet.  A  second,  and  then  a  third 
followed. 

"  Halloa !  "  said  he,  in  a  low  voice;  "  here  is  my  next 
door  neighbor  asking  for  a  cigar."    He  had  a  good  stock 


6  THE  felon's  bequest. 

of  tobacco  in  his  cell,  and  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
throwing  one  or  two  over  to  the  unlucky  fellow  who 
signified  his  presence  in  the  way  described. 

Prisoners  pass  some  objects,  and  even  letters,  to  each 
other  by  this  means.  All  they  have  to  do  is  to  w^atch  for 
the  moment  when  the  warder's  back  is  turned.  Cransac 
had  learned  from  notes  written  without  the  slightest 
regard  to  either  grammar  or  spelling,  that  his  neighbor 
was  going  to  be  tried  at  the  sessions.  But  he  did  not 
know  of  what  offence  he  had  been  guilty,  nor  did  he  care 
to  do  so.  The  day  before,  however,  he  had  thought 
proper  to  send  a  message  by  the  same  route,  and  had 
thrown  over  a  piece  of  paper  wrapped  round  a  pebble, 
upon  which  he  had  written  before  leaving  his  cell :  *'  Do 
not  throw  anything  more  over.  I  shall  not  be  here,  and 
your  letters  might  fall  into  the  hands  of  another  prisoner, 
who  would  possibly  report  you." 

This  time  Cransac  threw  over  a  packet  of  cigars  as  a 
farewell  gift. 

The  message  arrived  in  safety  at  its  destination,  and  the 
manoeuvre  escaped  the  vigilance  of  the  warder  at  his  post 
of  observation. 

Cransac  thought  that  this  would  wind  up  his  relations 
with  the  rogue  on  the  other  side,  but  to  his  surprise  he 
received  a  fresh  packet  as  soon  as  the  warder  had  again 
turned  his  back.  This  time  it  was  a  big  ball  of  paper 
sufficiently  heavy  to  be  tossed  over  without  the  usual 
accompanying  stone.  Cransac  hastened  to  pick  it  up  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket.  He  was  certain  that  in  the  ball  of 
paper  a  letter  was  concealed,  which  he  could  not  read 
whilst  in  the  exercise  yard  without  fear  of  detection,  but 
which  he  could  easily  peruse  on  his  return  to  his  cell,  for 
he  was  anxious  to  learn  what  the  malefactor  had  to  write 
to  him  about. 

"  I  expect  that  he  takes  me  for  one  t»f  his  own  stamp," 
thought  he,  "  and  knowing  that  I  am  going  out  to-morrow, 
has  entrusted  me  with  some  commission  for  some  one  of 
his  accomplices.  I  will  take  care  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  but  I  will  preserve  his  signature  as  a  remembrance 
of  my  trip  to  Mazas." 

Cransac  had  done  well  in  concealing  his  neighbor's 
missive,  for  eleven  o'clock  struck,  and  the  hour  of  exer- 
cise was  over.    A  warder  opened  the  gate  that  led  into  the 


THE  FELONS  BEQUEST.  7 

gallery  in  which  his  cell  was  situated,  and  beckoned  him 
to  come  in. 

The  warder  who  had  charge  of  him,  before  turning  the 
key  of  his  cell,  whispered  in  his  ear  words  which  sounded 
like  the  sweetest  music.  "  Good  news !  "  said  he.  "  The 
order  for  your  release  has  come,  and  in  ten  minutes  you 
will  be  sent  for  to  receive  the  order  for  your  discharge." 

"  At  last  then,"  cried  Cransac,  as  soon  as  he  found  him- 
self alone,  "  I  am  going  back  to  the  society  of  honest 
people.  How  pleasant  it  will  be  once  again  to  associate 
with  my  old  friends  and  companions !  They  did  not  put 
themselves  out  much  to  come  and  see  me  in  Queer  Street, 
but  I  am  not  angry  with  them.  The  busy  life  of  Paris 
carries  a  man  along  toofast  to  enable  him  to  stop  and  pick  up 
those  who  fall  by  the  way.  But  I  am  on  my  legs  again, 
thank  goodness,  and  everyone  will  hold  out  their  hands 
to  me."  Then,  as  he  remembered  the  letter  he  had  in  his 
pocket,  he  said  to  himself:  "  I  have  half  a  mind  to  burn 
it;  but  there  —I  run  no  risk  by  reading  it,  so  here  goes." 

He  untied  the  ball,  and  on  a  greasy  piece  of  paper,  in 
which  a  candle  had  evidently  been  wrapped,  he  read  these 
words:     "I  expect  you  are  a  swell-faker '  " 

"What  does  he  mean  by  that  ?  Ah,  I  have  it.  He  means 
a  first-class  thief.  Well  my  neighbor  is  complimentary. 
Let  us  go  on:  *  But  you  are  a  safe  pal,  and  your  weeds  are 
immensikoff.  I  go  before  the  heaks  next  week,  and  am  in 
for  a  stretch  of  twenty  years,  and  as  I  am  fifty  now,  I 
shall  never  again  cross  the  herring  pond;  the  noses  have 
come  the  artful  over  me.  I  shan't  leave  my  sv:<ig  to  the 
gang — no  fear,  I'll  make  you  my  heir;  and  this  is  where  I 
have  stowed  it * 

"  His  swag  T'  muttered  George.  "  What  does  my  friend 
of  the  exercise-yard  mean  by  that  ?  It  must  be  a  slang 
term,  and  my  education  in  that  line  has  been  neglected. 
Here  is  a  good  opportunity  to  commence  my  studies. 
Let  me  see  how  he  goes  on." 

"  *I  teU  you  my  swag  is  worth  the  trouble  of  fishing  up. 
You  are,  I  expect,  about  stumped,  and  will  be  glad  enough 
to  grab  it.  That  ain't  a  hard  matter.  All  you  have  to  do 
is  to  take  a  walk  to  IMontmartre  one  night.  You  must 
climb  the  hill  by  the  steps  at  the  end  of  the  Rue  Germain 
Pilon.  After  that  you  will  leave  the  Montmartre  Town 
Hall  on  the  right  hand,  go  up  the  Eue  Ravignan,  then  turn 


8  THE  felon's  bequest. 

to  the  right  into  the  Rue  Gabrielle.  In  the  middle  of  it 
you  will  see  on  your  left  a  kind  of  a  garden,  closed  by  a 
rotten  wooden  gate.  Put  your  shoulder  to  it,  and  it  will 
give ;  then  go  through  the  trees,  until  you  come  to  a  house 
standing  up  all  alone,  like  a  ninepin.  The  crib  has  three 
floors,  with  only  one  window  in  each  storey.  It  has  been 
unoccupied  for  the  last  twenty  years,  and  is  falling  to 
bits ' 

"  Good,"  muttered  Cransac.  "  So  the  swag  is  money 
that  he  has  hidden  in  a  ruined  house.  A  nice  little  walk 
he  suggests  to  me  1 

" '  On  the  ground  floor  you  will  find  a  door  without 
bolt  or  lock.  You  have  only  to  push  it  to  get  in.  You 
will  see  in  front  of  you  a  brass  plate  at  the  back  of  the 
chimney,  all  black  with  soot.  In  the  top  of  the  plate  is  a 
large  iron  pin.  Turn  it  three  times,  and  then  pull  it 
down,  and  the  plate  will  open  like  the  lid  of  a  desk ' 

"  Good — very  good.     It  gets  interesting. 

"  *I  ain't  agoing  to  tell  you  what  you'll  find  behind  it. 
You'll  see  what  you  will  see,  and  you'll  have  a  real  good 
spree  with  it.  Oh,  lor !  it's  me  what  would  have  had  the 
spree,  if  I  hadn't  been  fool  enough  to  have  got  nabbed 
over  a  job  that  didn't  bring  in  four  sous.  But  I'd  rather 
you  had  it  than  anyone  else.  And  don't  you  fret  that  I 
shall  ever  come  back  and  ask  for  my  regulars.  I  shall  go 
off  the  hooks  in  New  Caledonia,  and  even  if  I  didn't,  I 
couldn't  find  you,  for  I  have  never  clapped  eyes  on  your 
mug,  and  don't  even  know  your  name * 

"  And  a  good  thing,  too.     I  am  nearly  at  the  end. 

"  *  I  had  a  daughter  once,  but  she  slung  her  hook  five 
years  ago.  The  minx  was  ashamed  of  her  old  dad.  I 
didn't  take  no  pains  to  go  after  her,  you  may  guess.  She 
might  have  ridden  in  her  own  carriage  with  my  bequest, 
and  now  she  will  end  with  a  workhouse  burial.  That'll 
teach  her  to  be  stuck  up.  Keep  it  all,  old  pal,  and  spend 
it  like  a  man.  "When  I  shall  be  over  there,  it'll  cheer  me 
up  to  think  that  the  beaks  ain't  got  the  swag.  Good  luck 
to  you,  and  down  with  the  noses  1 

"'Pierre.'" 

Cransac  had  had  some  difficulty  in  understanding  that 
swag  meant  money,  but  he  knew  at  once  that  "  Down  with 
the  noses"  signified  " down  with  the  informers,"  for  he 
had  read  this  threat  dozens  of  times  scrawled  on  the 


THE  FELON  S  BEQUEST.  9 

walls  of  the  exercise-ground  and  of  his  cell.  There  was 
a  postscript  to  this  strange  letter:  "If  you  come  across  a 
chap  named  Troche,  a  fellow  that  is  always  loafing  about 
the  boulevards,  you  might  break  every  bone  in  his  skin  for 
me.     It  was  him  as  sold  me." 

Cransac  could  hardly  restrain  a  laugh  at  this  last  recom- 
mendation, and  was  about  to  read  the  letter  over  again 
for  his  amusement,  when  the  clash  of  bolts  and  bars 
warned  him  that  the  turnkey  was  about  to  make  his 
appearance,  and  he  had  only  just  the  time  to  conceal  it  in 
his  pocket  when  the  man  came  in. 

"It  is  all  right,"  said  the  warder.  "You  are  wanted  at 
the  office.     Take  up  your  bundle,  and  come  along." 

His  bundle  was  not  very  heavy;  he  had  only  the  clothes 
in  which  he  stood,  and  a  little  linen  which  he  had  hastily 
packed  up.  He  followed  the  jailer,  and  more  than  once 
asked  himself  if  they  would  not  search  him,  and  find  the 
letter  of  the  worthy  Pierre,  the  enemy  of  informers.  But 
they  do  not  search  prisoners  who  are  leaving  Mazas,  and 
his  order  of  discharge  was  read  to  him  with  all  due  for- 
mality, and  the  door  was  opened  for  his  exit,  after  his 
watch  and  money  had  been  returned  to  him. 

Once  again  he  found  himself  standing,  with  his  bundle 
in  his  hand,  on  the  Parisian  pavement,  half  stunned  by 
the  din  of  carriages  which  filled  the  vicinity  of  the  Lyons 
terminus.  But  he  soon  pulled  himself  together,  and  pre- 
pared once  again  to  enter  that  life  from  which  the  warrant 
for  his  arrest  had  so  roughly  removed  him.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  he  had  had  an  unpleasant  dream,  and  that  now  he 
had  woke  up,  all  that  he  had  to  do  was  to  pick  up  his  con- 
nection and  set  to  work  once  more.  He  glanced  at  a 
neighboring  clock,  and  saw  that  it  was  half-past  eleven, 
so  that  he  would  have  plenty  of  time  to  reach  the 
Exchange  in  time  for  its  opening,  and  he  felt  sure  that  all 
his  friends  would  receive  him  with  open  arms.  He  there- 
fore hailed  a  cab,  and  ordered  the  driver  to  go  to  the 
Bourse,  as  he  intended  appearing  there  before  going  to  his 
own  rooms. 


LO  THE  felon's  bequest. 

CHAPTER  n. 

THE     STBICKEN     DEIE. 

Cransac  tad  not  deceived  himself  when  he  imagined 
that  his  reappearance  on  'Change  would  create  a  sensa- 
tion. As  he  ascended  the  main  staircase  he  saw  some  of 
the  most  assiduous  frequenters  who  know  him  by  sight 
looking  at  him  with  an  air  of  profound  astonishment;  but 
he  noticed  that  not  one  of  them  gave  him  the  usual  greet- 
ing of  busy  stock-brokers — a  slight  nod  of  the  head. 
Under  the  Colonade  matters  were  worse.  He  fell  into 
the  midst  of  a  group  of  "  outside  operators,"  who  scat- 
tered on  all  sides  at  his  approach.  "When  he  arrived  at 
the  corner  where  his  best  customers  were  in  the  habit  of 
congregating,  those  to  whom  he  bowed  turned  their 
backs  on  him.  At  last  he  recognized  a  friend  who  worked 
for  the  same  broker  as  he  did,  and  who  was  pushing  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  with  his  note-book  in  his  hand 
and  his  pencil  behind  his  ear.  This  man  had  been  his 
boon  companion,  and  Cransac  caught  him  by  the  arm, 
and  stopped  him,  saying:  "  "What  do  you  mean  by  cut- 
ting me  like  this  ?  " 

"  Faith,  my  dear  fellow,"  answered  the  broker's  agent. 
"  I  only  do  like  the  others.  You  did  not,  I  suppose,  expect 
to  be  very  enthusiastically  received  by  your  old  compan- 
ions ?  " 

"  I  expected  to  be  received  like  a  friend  who  has  been 
unjustly  accused." 

"  A  friend  !     "Who  has  just  come  out  of  Mazas." 

"  Oh,  if  that  is  the  way  you  look  on  it,  you  may  go  to 
the  devih     I  will  explain  matters  to  my  employer." 

"  He  has  just  come.  You  will  find  him  over  there,  and 
can  say  what  you  like,  for  the  opening  bell  has  not  yet 
rung." 

Cransac  left  his  cowardly  friend,  and  hastened  into  the 
main  hall  of  the  building,  where  there  was  yet  plenty  of 
room,  for  it  was  still  easy  to  make  one's  way  about.  He 
soon  came  up  to  the  broker,  who  looked  at  him  with  a 
calm  and  severe  expression  of  face. 


THE  felon's  bequest.  11 

"  You  here,  sir?"  said  be.  "  I  confess  that  I  did  not 
expect  to  see  you,  and  hei'e  too !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Cransac,  warraly.  "  Is  it  because 
I  have  been  the  Tictim  of  a  mistake  ?  The  authorities 
have  admitted  it,  and  I  have  a  right  to  show  myself 
everywhere  since  I  am  an  innocent  person," 

"  I  would  wiUingly  believe  it,  but  everyone  on  'Change 
knows  that  you  were  taken  up,  and  I  cannot  have  you 
about  me  any  longer;  besides,  you  would  gain  nothing 
by  remaining,  for  no  one  would  entrust  you  with  any 
orders.  I  advise  you  to  change  your  line  of  business, 
and  you  ought  to  get  on,  for  you  are  active  and  intelli- 
gent." 

Then,  as  he  perceived  that  Cransac  was  about  to  burst 
into  a  storm  of  passion,  he  added: 

"  Your  account  is  made  up,  and  there  is  some  money 
due  to  you  on  your  last  month's  brokerage.  My  cashier 
will  settle  with  you  whenever  you  like." 

The  bell  rang  to  announce  that  the  Exchange  was 
open,  the  broker  hurried  off,  and  all  the  daily  din  and 
hubbub  commenced.  Even  had  Cransac  wished,  he  could 
not  have  uttered  another  word,  for  the  tumult  would 
have  drowned  his  voice. 

Boiling  over  with  rage,  he  hurried  away,  not  lingering 
for  a  moment  in  the  accursed  spot,  and  ran  out  into  the 
open  street.  His  cab  was  waiting  for  him,  and  getting 
into  it,  he  was  driven  to  his  home  in  the  Rue  Frocbot. 

His  rage  almost  suffocated  him.  For  the  first  time  he 
had  learned  to  read  Man,  His  former  friends  repudiated 
him;  his  employer  discharged  him.  He  had  nothing  to 
reproach  himself  with,  he  had  not  even  committed  an  act 
of  imprudence,  and  yet  all  refused  to  listen  to  him  when 
he  attempted  to  justify  himself  and  prove  that  he  had 
not  committed  the  disgraceful  act  of  which  he  had  been 
accused.  This  injustice  made  him  hate  the  financial 
world  in  which  he  had  Uved  ever  since  he  left  school. 

At  the  Rue  Frochot  fresh  annoyances  awaited  him. 
The  porter,  when  he  caught  sight  of  him,  seemed  to 
imagine  that  he  had  fallen  from  the  clouds,  and  was  half 
inclined  to  call  a  policeman,  evidently  believing  that 
Cransac  had  escaped  from  prison;  and  when  he  was 
about  to  go  up  to  his  own  room,  he  called  after  him  in  a 
sulky  tone: 


12  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  Tou  needn't  take  the  trouble  to  do  that.  The  land- 
lord has  sealed  up  the  door  of  your  room." 

"  What,  has  he  ventured  to ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  that  the  commissary  of  police  came 
and  searched  your  rooms.  We  can't  keep  a  lodger  in  a 
respectable  house  like  ours,  who  is  wanted  by  the  police. 
And  now  I'U  give  you  a  piece  of  advice,  and  that  is — be 
off,  as  sharp  as  you  can." 

Cransac  grasped  the  insolent  fellow  by  the  collar,  and, 
shaking  him  like  a  rat,  shouted: 

"  You  impertinent  hound,  I'U  go  to  the  commissary  of 
police,  and  we  wiU  see  if  this  beast  of  a  landlord  has  the 
right  to  turn  me  out  of  doors." 

For  at  that  moment  he  was  so  much  exasperated  that 
he  had  forgotten  all  about  his  detention  in  Mazas,  and  the 
strange  letter  that  lurked  in  his  pocket. 

Cransac's  only  wish  was  to  regain  possession  of  his 
rooms,  even  if  he  had  to  go  to  the  commissary  of  the 
district  to  enable  him  to  do  so. 

As  he  had  been  discharged,  he  had  nothing  to  fear 
from  that  official,  but  for  aU  that  he  felt  a  certain  amount 
of  repugnance  in  applying  to  him  for  assistance.  After  hurl- 
ing the  insolent  porter  from  him,  who  fell  gasping  into  a 
chair,  Cransac  paid  the  fare,  took  the  bundle  of  linen  out 
of  the  cab,  and  placing  it  in  the  porter's  room,  said:  "  Go 
and  tell  your  master  that  he  shall  hear  from  me  to-day, 
and  that  I  intend  to  sleep  in  my  own  bed  to-night." 
This  threatening  communication  was  delivered  in  so 
fierce  a  manner  that  the  porter  began  to  change  his  tone, 
and,  commencing  to  stammer  out  some  excuses,  prom- 
ised to  deliver  the  message.  Cransac,  still  a  pray  to 
anger,  left  the  house,  and  walked  quickly  away,  hardly 
knowing  where  he  was  going.  His  head  seemed  on  fire, 
and  he  felt  that  he  must  walk  about  to  collect  his  ideas; 
besides,  after  fourteen  days'  imprisonment  the  possibility 
of  a  long  and  brisk  walk  was  full  of  charms  for  him,  and 
he  almost  longed  to  break  into  a  run,  as  a  horse  who  has 
been  for  a  long  time  mewed  up  in  a  stable  stretches  his 
legs  by  a  good  gallop.  The  Rue  Frochot  leads  into  the 
Place  Pigalle,  through  which  Cransac  only  passed  to  get 
into  a  narrow,  precipitous  street,  like  all  those  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Butte  Montmartre.  He  climbed  up 
as  high  as  he  could,  and  at  last  arrived  on  a  kind  of  plat- 


THE  felon's  bequest.  13 

form  which  overlooked  the  Place  Saint  Pierre.  There 
his  breath  failed  him,  and  he  was  obHged  to  stop  and 
rest,  sitting  down  to  do  so  on  a  heap  of  earth.  Beneath 
him  Paris  stretched  itself  out,  like  a  huge  grey  spot;  that 
Paris  in  which  he  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours,  and 
where  every  door  was  now  closed  against  him.  In  sum- 
mer these  high  grounds  are  a  great  deal  frequented,  but 
in  the  latter  months  of  the  year  hardly  anyone  comes 
there.  The  place  is  a  perfect  desert,  and  the  view  which 
can  be  obtained  from  it  does  not  in  any  way  compensate 
for  the  ugliness  of  the  surroimdings.  The  ground  under 
foot  seems  composed  of  dried  mud,  on  which  are  erected 
dilapidated  buildings  and  wooden  huts. 

Cransac  sat  plunged  in  thought,  which  was  not  of  a 
much  brighter  hue  than  the  objects  that  surrounded  him. 
With  his  mind's  eye  he  fathomed  the  abyss  into  which  the 
hand  of  fatality  had  plunged  him.  "What  would  become 
of  him — repulsed  on  all  sides,  without  friends,  without 
money,  and,  what  was  worse,  without  character?  He 
felt  that  a  man  tainted  with  the  suspicion  of  dishonor  does 
not  recover  himself  by  his  own  unaided  efforts.  But  who 
would  stretch  out  a  hand  to  aid  him  in  rising  from  his 
undeserved  fall  ?  He  had  no  relations  and  the  very 
name  he  bore  did  not  belong  to  him. 

George  Cransac  did  not  know  whose  son  he  was,  and 
his  earliest  recollections  did  not  go  beyond  a  man,  whose 
face  he  did  not  even  recollect,  coming  to  the  village 
where  he  had  been  placed  in  a  laborer's  family,  and  tak- 
ing him  away  to  Paris,  where  he  was  placed  in  a  school, 
which  he  only  left  to  go  to  the  College  of  Saint  Louis; 
thence  he  was  dismissed  on  account  of  the  annual  fees  not 
being  paid.  George  was  then  nineteen  years  of  age,  and 
was  about  to  enter  the  Polytechnic  School,  after  having 
passed  a  highly  successful  examination. 

Was  it  his  father  who  up  to  this  time  had  defrayed 
the  expenses  of  his  education,  and  had  he  died  sud- 
denly without  being  able  to  provide  for  the  wants  of  his 
illegitimate  son  ?  George  knew  nothing  of  the  real  facts 
of  the  case.  The  school  fees  used  to  reach  the  principal 
of  the  college  in  a  registered  but  unsigned  letter,  and 
the  man  who  had  brought  George  to  Paris  had  never 
again  made  his  appearance. 

George  therefore  found  himself  without  resources  at  a 


14  THE  felon's  bequest. 

moment  when  he  was  about  to  enter  on  a  career  in  which 
he  would  doubtless  have  achieved  a  brilliant  success.  His 
first  idea  was  to  enlist,  but  some  of  his  schoolfellows 
managed  to  place  him  with  a  stockbroker,  where  he  soon 
succeeded  in  making  a  very  good  position  for  himself.  His 
brokerages  brought  him  in  some  fifteen  thousand  francs 
a  3'ear;  but,  as  he  spent  money  as  fast  as  he  made  it, 
George  had  no  savings  to  fall  back  on,  and  all  that 
remained  to  him  was  the  bitter  regret  Jf or  his  want  of 
foresight,  a  feeling  of  intense  anger  against  those  who 
had  abandoned  him  in  his  misfortune,  and  an  ardent 
desix'e  to  discover  and  deliver  up  to  justice  the  forger 
who  had  been  the  cause  of  his  misfortune,  the  scoundrel 
who  resembled  him  so  much  that  the  one  had  been  taken 
for  the  other.  By  dint  of  pondering  over  his  doubtful 
parentage  and  his  terrible  disaster,  George  recovered  all 
his  former  energy.  His  anguish  turned  to  rage,  and 
shaking  his  fist  at  the  mighty  city  which  lay  at  his  feet, 
he  cried:  "  There  is  no  longer  a  place  for  me  in  Paris, 
where  they  crush  the  feeble,  and  ciinge  to  the  powerful. 
"Well,  I  wiU  make  a  place  for  myself.  Money  is  a  mighty 
thing,  and  when  I  have  it,  those  who  now  repulse  me 
will  lick  the  dust  from  my  shoes.  I  will  be  rich,,  and 
will  spare  no  means  to  attain  my  ends.  But  I  will  not 
confess  that  I  am  conquered.  I  will  first  have  an  expla- 
nation with  the  cowards  who  have  turned  their  backs  on 
me.  I  will  force  them  to  acknowledge  that  I  am  worth 
more  than  they  are,  and  will  force  them  to  wage  the  bat- 
tle with  me.  I  will  conquer,  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  I 
will  have  a  brilliant  reparation,  and  I  wHl  go  to  work 
•without  a  moment's  delay,  for  I  will  never  bow  my  head 
beneath  their  insults." 

Cheered  by  this  brief  monologue,  George  Cransac  rose 
to  his  feet.  He  had  something  else  to  do  than  hurl  curses 
on  Paris  from  the  summit  of  the  Butte  Montmartre.  He 
had  first  to  find  the  client  whose  evidence  had  proved 
that  Cransack  was  receiving  his  orders  in  his  house  in  the 
Avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  at  the  very  hour  when 
his  double  was  presenting  the  forged  check  at  the  Credit 
Lyonnais.  This  chent  was  a  wealthy  foreigner,  who  had 
always  treated  the  young  outsider  operator  with  marked 
poHteness,  and  would  not  hesitate  to  give  a  written  testi- 
mony how  utterly  impossible  it  Avas  that  Cransac  could 


THE  felon's  bequest.  15 

have  uttered  tlie  forged  clieck.  Furnished  with  so  pow- 
erful a  piece  of  evidence,  Cransac  woxild  have  no  trouble 
in  silencing  his  calumniators,  and  he  was  determined  that 
the  reparation  should  be  as  public  as  the  injury.  The 
Stock  Exchange  is  hardly  a  place  for  atonements  of  this 
kind,  but  both  Cransac  and  his  friends  were  members  of 
a  club,  and  that  would  be  an  excellent  place  for  a  deci- 
sive explanation.  Cransac,  therefore,  descended  from  the 
eminence  in  all  haste,  so  that  he  might  drive  to  the  house 
of  the  Marquis  of  Simancas,  whom  he  was  almost  certain 
of  finding  at  home  at  this  hoiir  of  the  day.  Instead  of 
returning  by  the  way  he  had  come,  George  took  a  shorter 
cut,  by  a  flight  of  steps  which  he  imagined  would  lead 
directly  to  the  Place  Saint  PieiTe.  But  he  almost  imme- 
diately found  out  that  the  steps  stopped  half-way,  at  the 
end  of  a  side  street,  the  name  of  which  he  read  on  a  wall 
— the  Rue  Gabrielle.  All  at  once  it  flashed  upon  his 
mind  that  this  was  the  street  spoken  of  in  the  letter  fi-om 
his  fellow-prisoner  in  Mazas.  The  opportimity  was  most 
suitable  to  find  out  if  the  description  of  the  locality 
given  by  his  unseen  neighbor  was  a  correct  one. 

Cransac  could  hardly  believe  that  in  so  thickly  popu- 
lated a  quarter  of  the  town  a  neglected  garden  and  a 
ruined  house  of  the  kind  mentioned  in  the  letter  could 
exist.  As,  however,  he  was  forced  to  go  down  the  Rue 
Gabrielle,  nothing  was  easier  thsin  to  verify  the  fact. 
Even  if  he  found  it  as  described,  nothing  would  oblige 
him  to  enter  the  house,  and  at  the  moment  he  had  no 
intention  of  doing  so.  He  therefore  walked  straight  on, 
and  had  not  advanced  thii-ty  paces  when  he  found  him- 
self in  front  of  the  garden  mentioned  in  the  letter.  A 
low  wall  cut  it  off  from  the  street,  and  beyond  it  was  a 
rather  large  extent  of  ground  covered  with  trees  and 
brushwood,  which  even  the  wildest  imagination  coidd 
hardly  designate  as  a  garden,  for  there  was  not  a  sign  of 
cultivation  to  be  seen  in  it.  It  looked  more  Kke  a  pi-ime- 
val  forest.  In  the  middle  of  the  wall  was  a  worm-eat«n 
wooden  gate  hanging  crookedly  from  its  broken  hinges. 
The  owner  of  this  strange  abode  no  doubt  lacked  the 
necessary  funds  to  keep  it  in  repair,  and  it  had  become 
a  haunt  for  the  night  wanderers  who  swarmed  in  the  dis- 
trict. "  That  is  a  queer  place  to  hide  a  treasure  in," 
thought  Cransac.      "I  should  think  the  young  gutter- 


16  THE  felon's  bequest. 

jumpers  of  the  neighborhood  would  have  found  it  out 
long  before."  He  looked  for  the  house,  but  ct»uld  only 
perceive  the  roof  peeping  out  above  the  trees.  He,  how- 
ever, could  guess  at  the  spot  where  it  stood.  It  was 
perched  on  the  top  of  a  wooded  slope,  and  the  desire 
seized  on  him  to  examine  it  closer.  There  was  no  chance 
of  any  one  seeing  him,  for  there  were  no  buildings  oppo- 
site the  gate,  and  he  seemed  to  be  the  only  person  in  the 
street.  He  pushed  against  the  door,  which  yielded  to 
the  first  touch  of  his  hand,  and  entered  the  enclosure. 
But  the  most  difficult  part  had  yet  to  be  overcome,  the 
paths  were  overgrown  with  rank  weeds  and  vegetation  of 
all  kinds,  and  it  was  necessary  to  make  a  path  through  a 
tangled  mass  of  briar  and  brambles.  After  much  trouble 
he  emerged  from  the  thicket  and  found  himself  in  front 
of  the  house,  which  was  exactly  what  the  prisoner  of 
Mazas  had  described.  "Shall  I  go  on  any  further?" 
mused  Cransac.  "  The  ruin  has  a  cut-throat  look  about 
it  Who  can  say  that  the  rogue  may  not  have  laid  a  trap 
for  me.  He  wouldn't  think  that  I  should  leave  the  prison 
without  any  money  in  my  pocket,  and  he  may  have  sent 
me  direct  to  fellows  of  his  own  stamp,  who  will  knock  me 
on  the  head  after  robbing  me.  Well,  never  mind,  my 
life  isn't  worth  much,  and  the  fellow  has  not  lied.  There 
may  be  a  stolen  fortune  inside,  which  the  police,  on  my 
information,  will  restore  to^the  rightful  owner." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  17 

CHAPTEE  in. 

I 

A  GLEAM  OF  SUNSHINE. 

Some  broken  steps,  wliicli  threatened  to  crumble  away 
beneath  the  feet  of  the  first  comer,  led  up  to  the  only  door 
of  the  house.  All  the  glass  in  the  windows  was  shattered, 
the  shutters  had  been  wrenched  away,  and  the  door  swung 
backwards  and  forwards  in  the  breeze  on  its  broken 
hinges.  George  Cransac  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  ashamed  of  his  indecision,  pushed  back  the  worm- 
eaten  door  and  entered  the  room  on  the  ground  floor,  but 
halted  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold  before  venturing  in. 
He  saw  only  the  four  bare  waUs,  no  wall  paper,  no  hang- 
ings, no  furniture,  a  tile  floor,  covered  with  dust,  and  the 
coi-ners  thickly  festooned  with  spiders'  webs.  A  heap  of 
plaster,  which  had  fallen  from  the  ceiling  lay  in  front  of 
the  fire-place,  and  was  so  high  as  almost  to  conceal  the 
famous  brass  plate  behind  which  lay,  if  the  prisoner  of 
Mazas  was  to  be  believed,  his  "  swag,"  or  in  plain  English, 
his  money.  But  this  was  not  the  moment  to  verify  the 
rogue's  statements. 

Both  house  and  garden  were  easy  of  access,  and  Cransac 
had  no  wish  to  be  detected  handling,  or  even  looking  at 
the  treasure  which  had  been  hidden  there  by  a  robber. 
He  never  thought  of  taking  it  away,  having  only  come  to 
the  spot  by  chance,  and  entered  the  garden  from  curiosity. 
If  the  money  was  there,  there  was  no  risk  in  leaving  it 
until  the  day  when  he  should  decide  to  inform  the  police 
authorities  of  the  existence  of  the  treasure,  and  he  had  not 
even  yet  made  up  his  mind  whether  he  would  do  so  or 
not. 

After  all  a  secret  is  a  secret,  whether  it  belongs  to  a 
robber  or  not;  and  an  honorable  man  never  informs 
against  anyone,  unless,  indeed,  he  has  to  do  so  in  self- 
defence.  As  he  was  on  the  spot,  however,  he  thought  he 
might  inspect  the  house  from  cellar  to  garret.  At  the 
other  end  of  the  room  was  a  dark  passage,  in  which  was  a 
dilapidated  staircase,  leading  to  the  upper  floors.  Cransac 
ascended  it,  and  found  that  it  was  even  in  a  worse  state 
than  it  looked.     The  roof  of  this  species  of  square  turret 


18  THE  felon's  bequest. 

terminated  in  a  sort  of  Italian  terrace,  where  the  autumn 
rains  had  left  large  pools  of  water,  which  had  filtered 
through  into  the  walls  and  threatened  shortly  to  bring 
the  whole  place  to  the  ground,  when  the  treasure  would 
run  a  great  risk  of  being  buried  beneath  the  ruins.  Cran- 
sac  had  now  seen  all  that  he  desired  to  see,  and  he  began  to 
think  that  the  place,  after  all,  was  not  so  badly  suited  for 
a  hiding  place,  for  no  one  would  ever  think  of  searching 
for  valuables  in  such  a  ruin.  He  therefore  descended 
from  the  roof  at  once,  and  in  doing  so,  saw  that  a  fire  had 
been  recently  lighted  in  the  grate  in  the  room  on  the  first 
floor.  Some  poor,  homeless  wanderer  had,  no  doubt,  come 
in  to  warm  himself;  but  there  were  no  signs  of  his  having 
used  it  as  a  permanent  abode. 

Thoroughly  satisfied  with  his  inspection,  Cransac  once 
more  forced  his  way  through  the  tangled  wilderness,  and 
as  soon  as  he  reached  more  civilized  regions  hailed  a  cab, 
and  drove  to  the  address  of  the  Marquis  de  Simancas.  He 
was  going  to  play  his  final  card,  for  this  gentleman  had 
only  to  act  and  he  would  at  once  be  restored  to  his  proper 
position,  even  in  the  eyes  of  the  most  prejudiced  persons. 
The  question  was,  Wotdd  he  do  so?  Would  the  kindness 
with  which  he  had  always  treated  the  young  man  be  sufia- 
cient  reason  to  induce  him  to  come  forward  publicly  and 
clear  his  character  in  the  estimation  of  the  public  ? 

The  marquis  was  a  Cuban  Spainard,  immensely  rich, 
whose  sole  employment  was  the  pursuit  of  pleasure. 
Would  he  agree  to  put  himself  to  any  inconvenience  ?  He 
had  given  evidence  in  favor  of  Crausac  before  the  exam- 
ining magistrate;  but  then  he  was  obliged  to  do  this,  for 
no  one  has  the  right  to  refuse  to  bear  witness  in  a  crim- 
inal trial  whether  he  be  a  rich,  influential  foreigner,  or  the 
poorest  citizen  in  France.  As  his  cab  sped  on  towards  the 
Avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  Cransac  thought  over 
all  these  points  which  soon  di'ove  out  of  his  head  the 
ruined  house  he  had  recently  visited,  for  the  treasure  of 
the  prisoner  of  Mazas  occupied  him  much  less  than  the 
result  of  the  interview  that  he  was  now  seeking.  It  was  just 
three  o'clock  when  he  reached  the  Avenue  of  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne:  it  is  at  this  hour  that  in  winter  the  long  lines  of 
carriages  are  to  be  seen  making  their  way  to  the  wood, 
and  the  road  was  crowded  with  elegant  carriages.  The 
humble  cab  in  which  Cransac  was  seated  cut  but  a  poor 


THE  felon's  bequest.  19 

figure  in  the  midst  of  the  fashionable  equipages.  "Without 
going  much  into  the  gay  world  of  Paris,  George  Cransac, 
like  many  other  yoving  men  connected  with  the  Stock 
Exchange,  knew  by  sight  many  of  the  celebrities  in  the 
circles  of  Bohemia.  With  some  even  he  was  on  terms  of 
intimacy,  and  was  ever  ready  to  offer  them  a  merry  dinner 
or  to  send  them  bouquets  of  flowers.  But  he  could  not  help 
seeing  that  these  last,  after  having  glanced  at  him  for  a 
moment  with  an  air  of  surprise,  turned  their  heads  sharply 
on  one  side,  so  as  to  avoid  recognizing  him  as  they  passed; 
but  he  accounted  for  this  by  saying  to  himself  that  this 
was  because  his  get-up  was  rather  shabby.  His  hat  was 
good  enough  because  it  was  new  on  the  day  of  his  arrest; 
but  contact  with  the  walls  of  his  prison  had  made  his 
overcoat  look  very  seedy,  the  fur  on  the  collar  was 
rubbed  off  here  and  there,  and  hiscollar,  which  he  Lad  not 
changed,  was  limp  and  dirty.  Young  ladies  of  this 
class  have  a  keen  eye  to  recognize  at  the  first  glance  when 
a  man  is  beginning  to  drift  into  poverty.  Their  beha- 
vior did  not  affect  Cransac  much,  for  he  knew  that  their 
sentiments  would  change  when  he  appeared  before  them 
again  as  well  dressed  as  ever.  The  house  in  which  the 
marquis  resided  was  at  the  comer  of  the  Rue  Pergolese, 
and  as  Cransac  got  out  of  his  cab  the  marquis  issued 
from  his  house,  and  was  about  to  get  into  the  magnificent 
carriage  which  was  waiting  for  him.  The  footman  was 
holding  the  door  open,  and  the  coachman  was  only  wait- 
ing his  master's  order  to  give  the  reins  to  his  horses. 
Cransac  came  up,  hat  in  hand,  and  felt  a  cold  chill  strike 
his  heart,  when  the  marquis  said: 

"  Ah,  is  it  you,  sir  ?    And  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

Cransac  turned  pale.  He  had  expected  a  different 
reception,  and  it  was  all  that  he  could  do  to  muster  up 
sufficient  courage  to  reply: 

"  I  came  to  thank  you,  my  lord." 

'  Thank  me  I    And  for  what,  pray?  " 

"For  having  given  evidence  in  my  favor  before  the 
examining  magistrate.  It  is  to  you  that  I  owe  my 
Hbei-ty." 

"  There  is  no  occasion  to  thank  me  for  having  told  the 
truth." 

**  At  least,  may  I  hope  that  you  will  again  confirm  what 
you  said  before,  and  state  that  you  are  sure  that  it  was  a 


20  THE  felon's  bequest. 

case  of  mistaken  identity.     That  I  am  innocent  you  know 
better  than  anyone  else." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  know  you  were  at  my  house 
at  eleven  o'clock,  on  the  day  upon  which  it  appears  that 
a  forged  check  was  presented  at  the  Credit  Lyonnais;  but 
I  know  nothing  more,  and  cannot  undertake  to  clear 
your  character." 

"  Tou  really  speak  as  if  you  thought  me  guilty,"  said 
Cransac,  bitterly. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  your  guilt,  or  your  innocence. 
Tou  have  been  suspected,  and  that  is  enough,  too  much 
even,  and  I  certainly  should  not  confide  my  sale  or  pur- 
chase of  stock  to  you  any  more;  and  so,  sir,  farewell." 

With  these  words  the  Marquis  de  Simancas  got  into 
his  carriage,  and  at  once  drove  off  to  the  wood. 

"  Rascal ! — coward !  "  muttered  the  young  man  ;  "  a 
word  from  him  to  the  broker  would  have  silenced  every 
malicious  tongue,  and  he  will  not  say  it.  He  declines  to 
receive  me,  and  hints  that  I  am  a  thief." 

For  a  few  moments  the  poor  young  fellow  remained 
stupified.  He  felt  that  all  was  lost.  But  anger  soon  got 
the  mastery,  and  the  lust  for  vengeance  grew  keener.  On 
whom  should  he  take  revenge  ?  On  the  first  of  his 
traducers  that  he  could  come  across. 

"  To  the  Club,  Eue  Volney,"  cried  he  to  the  cabman. 
The  poor  feUow  thought,  "  I  can  have  my  pick  of  them 
there,  for  they  all  come  after  the  day's  work.  I  will  wait 
for  them,  and  when  I  have  struck  one  of  them,  we  will 
see  whether  he  will  refuse  to  fight."  But  Cransac  was  no 
more  prepared  for  the  reception  that  he  was  going  to 
meet  with  at  the  club  than  he  had  been  for  the  treatment 
he  had  received  at  the  hands  of  his  friends.  When  he 
entered  the  hall,  and  was  about  to  ascend  the  stairs,  he 
noticed  that  the  servants  were  whispering  together,  and 
on  the  first  floor  he  was  met  on  the  threshold  of  the 
drawing-room  by  the  majestic  steward  of  the  club,  who, 
lowering  his  voice,  said:  "You  cannot  come  in  here,  sir." 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ?  "  asked  Cransac,  furiously. 

"  Are  you  unaware,  sir,  that  you  are  no  longer  a  member 
of  this  club  ?  " 

"  Since  when  ?  " 

"  Since  the  day  before  yesterday." 

"  And  who  ventured  to  give  any  such  order  ?  " 


THE  felon's  bequest.  21 

"  It  was  the  unanimous  decision  of  tlie  committee,  and 
was  posted  up  yesterday  in  the  drawing-room." 

This  was  the  last  and  final  stroke. 

George  felt  that  his  last  chance  of  vengeance  had  been 
wrested  from  him.  You  may  strike  one  man,  but  you 
bannot  beat  a  committee.  He  might  certainly  have 
picked  out  one,  but  he  hardly  knew  their  names.  He  did 
not,  however,  yield  tamely.  "  Send  one  of  the  Committee 
to  me,"  said  he,  coldly. 

"  There  are  none  of  them  here,"  replied  the  steward. 
"  You  must  be  aware,  sir,  that  the  committee  only  meets 
on  Thursday." 

It  was  impossible  for  George  to  enter  into  an  alterca- 
tion with  a  servant,  or  endeavor  to  force  his  way  into  the 
club,  where  he  might  not  even  meet  with  those  that  he 
so  ardently  desired  to  meet  face  to  face.  He  therefore 
adopted  the  only  course  that  remained  to  him,  and  left 
the  house,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  Very  well,  they  shall  hear 
from  me." 

He  went  off  in  a  state  of  utter  despair.  His  last  hope 
had  fled.  His  friends  had  deserted  him,  and  his  enemies 
had  stolen  a  march  on  him.  Every  door  seemed  closed,  and 
nothing  remained  for  him  but  death.  He  had  no  revolver  in 
his  pocket  with  which  to  blow  out  his  brains,  and  he  was 
about  to  order  his  coachman  to  drive  to  the  river,  when 
a  tall  young  fellow  came  along  the  pavement  of  the  Kue 
Volney.  He  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  Stock  Exchange, 
being  a  journalist,  and  George  knew  him,  as  he  knew 
many  others  that  he  had  met  in  the  world  of  youth  and 
gaiety.  They  had  frequently  taken  their  pleasure  to- 
gether. They  had  the  same  tastes,  and  were  of  the  same 
age,  and  they  had  soon  drifted  into  intimacy.  "Was  this 
sbarer  of  his  pleasures  going  to  cut  him  too  ?  George 
asked  himself  this  question,  prepared  to  pass  him  in  dis- 
dain and  anger  if  he  showed  the  slightest  semblance  of  a 
desire  to  avoid  him.  But  Paul  Valbrec  stretched  out  his 
hand  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  exclaimed,  in 
tones  of  unfeigned  pleasure,  "  I  knew  well  enough  that 
you  were  no  forger !  They  locked  you  up,  but  that  might 
happen  to  any  one.  Magistrates  are  such  asses.  But 
now  that  you  are  out,  we  must  celebrate  the  happy  event 
in  a  proper  manner." 

"  I  don't  feel  up  to  it,"  replied  George,  deeply  moved 


22  THE  felon's  bequest. 

at  this  unexpected  reception.  "  But  I  thank  you  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  for  not  having  doubted  me." 

"  Have  those  fools  on  the  Stock  Exchange  received  you 
badly,  then?" 

"  They  have  aU  cut  me  dead.  The  broker  for  whom  I 
have  been  working  has  dismissed  me,  and  the  committee 
of  my  club  has  expelled  me." 

"  These  are  all  misfortunes,  for  which  it  is  easy  to  find 
consolation,  old  boy.  Everything  in  this  world  is  for 
the  best.  You  were  too  clever  to  remain  a  money-grub- 
ber all  your  life.     I  will  find  you  a  place  on  my  paper." 

•*  I  ask  for  nothing  better  ;  but— — " 

"  Don't  trouble  about  how  you  will  manage.  There  is 
room  for  every  kind  of  talent  there,  and  I  am  sure  you 
are  just  the  man  to  turn  out  a  spicy  article." 

"  I  doubt  it  very  much. 

"  Try  it,  at  any  rate.  Why  should  you  not  begin  by  a 
sketch  of  '  Life  in  the  Prison  of  Mazas/  as  you  have  just 
come  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  " 

"Perfectly  so.  To-morrow  I  will  introduce  you  to  my 
editor,  and  will  be  answerable  for  you.  He  will  find  you 
some  place  or  other.  But  now  that  I  have  got  you,  I 
mean  to  keep  you.  Where  were  you  going  to  in  that 
rattletrap?" 

"  I  was  going  to  pitch  myself  into  the  river." 

"  The  duce — my  deai"  fellow !  You  go  to  work  sharply. 
But  if  all  those  who  have  been  arrested  by  mistake  took 
it  into  their  heads  to  have  a  dip  in  the  Seine,  we  should 
have  to  build  a  new  Morgue.  There  is  always  time 
enough  to  drown  yourself.  Dismiss  the  cab,  and  come 
with  me  for  a  stroll  in  the  Boulevards.  We  will  dine  to- 
gether. I  invite  you  on  the  spot.  We  will  uncork  a  few 
flasks  of  choice  Burgundy,  and  after  dinner  you  will  have 
given  up  all  idea  of  '  shuffling  off  this  mortal  coil.' " 

George  did  not  hestitate  long.  After  so  many  insults 
and  rebuffs  he  had  found  one  true  friend  who  believed  in 
his  innocence,  and  he  felt  fresh  hope  spring  up  in  his 
bosom.  He  did  not  expect  to  succeed  at  the  outset  in 
the  new  career  which  Paul  Valbrec  had  promised  to  open 
to  him,  but  he  determined  to  tiy  it,  without  for  a  moment 
renouncing  the  hope  of  coming  across  the  scoundrel  who 
had  forged  the  check  on  the  Credit  Lyounais. 


fHE  felon's  bequest.  23 

Paul  passed  his  arm  through  that  of  his  friend  and  led 
him  on  to  the  boulevards.  "  And  now,"  said  he,  "  tell  me 
all  about  the  matter.  I  have  heard  of  it^^  vaguely  from 
people  who  calumniated  you,  and  whose  mouths  I  closed, 
but  I  do  not  know  the  details.  That  there  was  some  mis- 
take I  am  certain,  but  how  came  it  about?  Where  did 
they*  nab 'you?" 

"  In  the  street,  just  as  I  was  leaving  my  rooms  to  go  to 
breakfast.  A  shabbily-dressed  fellow  came  up  to  me,  and 
politely  requested  me  to  go  with  him  to  the  commissary 
of  police,  who  wanted  some  information  from  me.  I  went 
with  him  to  the  office,  and  found  the  cashier  there  in  the 
vmiform  of  the  Credit  Lyonnais.  Directly  he  set  eyes  on 
me  he  cried  out,  '  That's  the  man.'  I  did  not  understand 
what  he  meant,  but  the  commissary  was  kind  enough  to 
explain  that  the  man  recognized  me  as  having  the  day 
before,  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  presented  a  check 
bearing  my  employer's  signature " 

"What  was  the  amount  of  the  check?"  interrupted 
Valbrec. 

"Twelve  thousand." 

"  That  was  a  low  price  to  have  ruined  yourself  at." 

"  I  protested,"  continued  George,  "  that  it  was  a  case 
of  mistaken  indentity,  but  it  was  of  no  avail.  The  cashier 
persisted  in  his  certainty  that  I  was  the  man,  and  I  was 
remanded  to  the  House  of  Detention." 

"  AVhat !  without  further  evidence?  That  was  a  strong 
measure." 

"  Yes,  things  happened  as  I  tell  you.  The  examining 
magistrate  told  me  next  day  that,  in  the  evening  after  the 
payment  had  been  made,  the  clerk  who  was  making  up 
the  books  fancied  there  was  something  wrong  about  the 
signature.  It  was  shown  to  my  employer,  who  declared 
it  to  be  a  forgery.  An  inquiry  w' as  set  on  foot,  and  some 
people  were  found  who  asserted  that  the  description  of 
the  forger  corresponded  exactly  with  my  appearance,  and 
then  the  warrant  was  issued." 

"  Then  the  forger  resembles  you  ?" 

"Very  closely,  it  seems;  and  he  knows  my  employer's 
signature,  for  the  forgery  was  most  skilfully  executed. 
He  must  have  had  a  check-book  and  access  to  the  office  of 
my  employer;  perhaps  he  was  an  outside  operator,  like 
myself." 


24  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"And  did  none  of  your  comrades  take  up  your 
defence  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  that  they  made  matters  as 
bad  as  they  could." 

"  You  were  making  too  much  money,  and  they  were 
delighted  at  the  chance  of  getting  hold  of  some  of  your 
brokerages,  and  it  was  lucky  that  you  managed  to  prove 
that  they  were  wrong.     How  did  you  manage  to  do  so  ?" 

"I  summoned  a  client  at  whose  house  I  was,  quite  in 
another  part  of  Paris,  whilst  the  check  was  cashed  over 
the  counter." 

"An  alibi;  that  was  a  strong  defence." 

"  It  seems  a  very  simple  thing  to  have  questioned  this 
gentleman,  and  got  his  reply,  and  yet  they  took  eight 
days  over  it.  The  examining  magistrate  did  not  want  to 
summon  him  at  first,  and  then  refused  to  believe  his  evi- 
dence. At  last  he  decided  to  confront  me  once  more 
\yith  the  cashier,  who  at  the  second  interview  did  not 
dare  to  maintain  that  I  was  the  man  who  presented  the 
check;  and  so  this  morning  they  let  me  out." 

"Imagine  such  a  thing  as  this  happening  in  the  most  civil- 
ized city  in  the  world.  They  lay  hold  of  a  man  who  is  per- 
fectly innocent,  they  keep  him  locked  up  for  eight  days, 
and  when  they  find  that  he  is  absolutely  guiltless,  they 
let  him  go,  without  troubling  themselves  as  to  what 
becomes  of  him;  nor  do  they  in  any  way  indemnify  him 
for  the  injury  that  he  has  sustained.  It  is  simply  dis- 
graceful; but,  at  any  rate,  you  owe  something  to  the 
worthy  fellow  whose  evidence  got  you  out  of  the  scrape." 

"  Suppose  I  were  to  tell  you  that  I  went  to  see  him 
this  morning,  and  he  received  me  exactly  as  if  I  had  been 
guilty?" 

"  Impossible !  Pray  what  is  the  name  of  this  extraor- 
dinary personage  ?  " 

"  The  Marquis  de  Simancas,  a  very  rich  Spaniard,  who 
has  a  fine  house  in  the  Avenue  de  Bois  de  Boulonge." 

"  Good — I  know  the  festive  foreigner.  I  have  already 
had  a  shy  at  him  in  my  paper,  in  which  I  chaffed  him  about 
his  rings,  his  watch  chain,  and  his  diamond  sleeve  links. 
Ill  touch  him  up  again  in  my  next." 

"  Don't  do  that,  my  dear  fellow.  He  certainly  received 
me  very  badly,  because  he  feared  that  he  might  have  to 


THE  felon's  bequest.  25 

come  forward  publicly;  but  for  all  that,  his  deposition 
took  me  out  of  Mazas." 

"  You  are  right.  I  wlQ  let  him  alone  then.  Now  that 
I  understand  the  matter  completely,  I  can  clearly  see  that 
you  have  been  the  victim  of  a  cunning  scoundrel,  who  has 
.  done  the  trick,  and  got  himself  up  to  look  like  you.  You 
must  find  the  fellow  out,  and  if  you  like  I  will  help  you 
to  do  so." 

"  Of  course  I  should  like  it.  Ah !  if  once  I  get  hold 
of  him " 

•'  He  will  have  a  bad  time  of  it,  eh  ?  But  tell  me,  do 
you  know  that  they  searched  your  rooms  the  day  after 
youi-  arrest  ?  " 

"The  porter  told  me  so." 

"  They  were  most  likely  looking  for  the  twelve  thous- 
and francs,  the  produce  of  the  check;  but  they  found 
nothing,  and  that  is  the  best  proof  that  you  never  had 
them.  But  will  you  credit  it,  they  did  the  same  at  Juliet 
Taupier's  house  ?  " 

"  By  Jove  !  this  is  too  much.  And  under  what  pretext?" 

"  WeU,  it  wasn't  hard  to  find  out  that  you  were  her 
lover." 

"  Oh,  indeed !— her  lover  ?  " 

"Well  one  of  them,  to  speak  more  exactly;  and  they 
thought  that  you  might  have  hidden  the  money  at  her 
house.  It  was  not  there,  however;  but  dear  Juliet  wasn't 
half  pleased  with  the  business,  and  she  hates  you  with  a 
deadly  hatred,  and  says  that  hanging  is  too  good  for 
you." 

"  "What !  has  she  too  turned  agaiast  me  ?  "  murmiired 
George. 

"  Worse  than  any  of  them,"  replied  Valdrec.  "  Afe 
you  simple  enough  to  believe  in  the  disinterested  affection 
of  girls  of  her  class  ?  I  will  wager  that  you  have  done  a 
great  deal  for  her,  and  yet  she  drags  your  name  through 
mud  and  mire.  It  is  only  human  nature,  and  you  do 
nrrong  to  fret  over  it.  Why,  you  really  ought  not  to 
phow  the  slightest  sui-prise." 

George  let  his  head  fall  on  his  breast,  for  in  his  heart 
he  knew  that  Valbrec  was  right;  and  yet  Juliet,  who  held 
a  medium  position  in  the  world  of  gallantry,  had  made  a 
deeper  impression  in  his  heart  than  he  cared  to  avow. 
Roughly  thrown  into  the  whirlpool  of  business  and  pleas- 


26  THE  felon's  bequest. 

ure  at  his  first  entrance  into  life,  witliout  relations  and 
with  no  footing  in  good  society,  George  had  plunged 
headlong  into  a  connection  with  Juhet,  who  had  crossed 
his  path  at  that  time,  and  it  had  cost  him  dear.  If  he 
now  found  himself  almost  penniless,  it  was  because  he 
had  spent  large  sums  of  money  on  the  gii'l,  who  was  no 
better  and  no  worse  than  others  of  her  own  class. 

This  connection  was  the  more  inexcusable  on  George's 
part,  because  he  possessed  all  that  was  pleasing  to  the 
other  sex  in  the  highest  degree.  Not  only  was  he  remark- 
ably handsome,  but  he  had  an  aristocratic  air,  and  a  soft, 
and  melodious  voice. 

George  was  born  to  inspire  some  duchess  with  a  roman- 
tic passion,  and  yet  he  wasted  his  sweetness  on  a  woman 
of  equivocal  reputation. 

The  thought  of  Juliet  had  not  ceased  to  haunt  him  in 
his  lonely  cell  in  Mazas,  and  the  reason  that  he  had  not 
paid  her  a  visit  the  moment  that  he  was  discharged  was 
because  he  wished  first  to  regain  his  footing  in  the  Stock 
Exchange,  where  he  earned  his  hving.  But  he  had  delayed 
his  visit  to  her  pretty  little  house  in  the  Rue  Joufeoy 
until  he  had  resumed  his  position  with  the  broker.  He 
had  expected  to  be  received  with  open  arms,  and  the  dis- 
closures made  to  him  by  the  only  friend  who  had  remained 
faithful  to  him  fell  on  his  ardent  passion  like  a  shower  of 
icy  water. 

"  Ah ! "  remarked  Valbrec,  cynically,  "  if  you  were  a 
rich  man,  Juliet  would  adore  you.  Moral :  Gain  as  much 
money  then  as  you  can.  And  you  will  gain  it,  if  you 
will  follow  my  advice  and  throw  yourself  into  financial 
journaHsm." 

,"  May  your  prediction  prove  true,"  sighed  George. 

"  And  now,  my  boy,  one  more  question.  You  told  me 
that  you  had  never  known  your  parents." 

"  Never  to  my  misfortune." 

"  But  they  must  have  been  wealthy,  since  they  gave 
3'ou  an  expensive  education." 

"  Until  the  time  when  they  deserted  me." 

"For  reasons  of  which  you  are  ignorant,  and  which 
may  one  day  cease  to  exist.  Do  you  not  remember,  my 
dear  George,  that  in  foinner  days  all  illegitimate  children 
were  presumed  to  be  of  noble  birth.  And  now  even 
there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  the  son  of  a 


THE  FELOIJ'S  BEQUEST.  27 

prince  or  a  millionaire.  Why  should  you  not  one  fine 
day  receive  a  letter  from  a  lawyer  announcing  that  some 
gentleman,  whose  name  you  never  heard  ia  your  life,  had 
left  you  heir  to  an  enormous  property  ?  " 

"  You  are  too  full  of  imagination,"  returned  Cransac, 
sadly, 

"  Perhaps  I  am,  but  we  are  not  forbidden  to  live  in 
hope.  How  delightful  it  would  be  to  wake  up  and  to 
find  yourself  richer  than  those  who  ruined  you  !  To  see 
all  of  them,  men  and  women,  doing  all  in  their  power  to 
regain  your  good  graces  ?  How  I  should  like  to  be  pres- 
ent at  so  strange  a  spectacle !  It  would  please  me  as 
much  as  if  the  money  had  come  to  me  myself;  but  that 
will  never  happen,  for  both  father  and  mother  have  died, 
and  not  left  me  a  rap,  whilst  the  traditional  uncle  does 
not  exist  in  my  family. 

George  made  no  answer  to  the  playful  remarks  of  his 
friend,  for  he  was  thinking  that  it  only  depended  on 
himself  to  realize  a  fortune  iu  a  different  manner  by 
taking  possession  of  the  convict's  hoard,  if  indeed  it 
actually  existed.  Even,  however,  up  to  the  present,  he 
had  not  got  over  the  scruples  which  had  prevented  his 
touching  it  when  it  was  almost  within  his  grasp,  at  the 
time  of  his  visit  to  the  house  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  LIONS. 

These  and  many  other  thoughts  whirled  through  his 
brain  as  he  and  his  companions  sipped  their  absinthe  at 
the  Cafe  Riche.  Whilst  they  were  sitting  enjoying  a  good 
Havana,  George  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  many  of 
his  acquaintances  pass  by,  who,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
bowed  to  him  on  seeing  him  in  company  with  Valbrec, 
whose  caustic  pen  was  well  known  and  dreaded.  It  seemed 
as  if  he  were  going  to  recover  his  position.  At  seven  o'clock 
they  adjouraed  to  the  Cafe  Americain,  where  a  liberal 
supply  of  good  wine  raised  George's  spirits  to  their  usual 
height.  The  dinner  was  prolonged,  and  the  clock  had 
struck  ten,  when  they  asked  each  other  how  they  should 
spend  the  rest  of  the  evening. 


28  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  at  the  publishing  office  until 
midnight,"  remarked  Paul  Yalbrec.  "It  is  too  late  to  go 
to  the  theatre;  besides,  I  have  had  too  much  of  theatres 
lately.  I  sigh  for  open-air  dissipation,  and  want  a  good 
walk  to  enable  me  to  digest  the  woodcock  and  burgundy. 
It  is  not  very  cold  this  evening,  and  will  not  rain.  Suppose 
we  walk  up  to  the  Boulevard  Rochechouart,  and  have  a 
look  at  the  fair.     That  wont  be  far  from  your  place  ?" 

"  Willingly, "  replied  Greorge,  who  began  to  feel  a  little 
fatigued  after  a  day  full  of  such  exciting  incidents,  and 
who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  sleep  in  his  own  bed,  either 
with  or  without  the  permission  of  his  landlord.  He  there- 
fore walked  on  with  Valbrec  towards  that  portion  of  the 
city  in  which  they  both  hved,  and  in  a  short  time  came 
into  the  midst  of  the  fair.  Every  year,  from  the  fifteenth 
of  November,  there  is  a  fair  in  this  thickly-populated 
district,  and  the  outer  boulevards  are  covered  with  sheds, 
booths,  and  tents  of  every  description.  There  is  the 
Cocheris  Theatre  for  pantomine  and  drama,  the  Corvi 
Theatre  for  monkeys  and  learned  dogs ;  but  these  are  the 
most  aristocratic  amusements,  and  there  are  in  addition, 
Hercules,  giants,  dwarfs,  seals,  and  somnambulists,  to  any 
extent.  That  year  there  was,  in  addition  to  all  these  amuse- 
ments, a  wild  beast  show,  where  lions  and  tigers  went 
through  their  performances  under  the  guidance  of  an 
excessively  handsome  girl.  The  reporters  of  the  news- 
papers mentioned  her,  and  it  soon  began  to  be  the  fashion 
for  the  mashers  to  take  a  trip  to  Montmartre  to  see  her. 

The  two  friends  made  straight  for  the  tent,  which  covered 
a  large  extent  of  ground,  not  very  far  from  the  Place  Pigalle, 
and  went  in  at  once,  for  the  last  show  was  now  on.  There 
was  a  dense  crowd,  and  they  had  some  difficulty  in  making 
their  way  to  the  large  cage  in  the  centre,  where  the  Lion 
Queen  was  performing,  surrounded  by  her  court  of  lions 
and  lionesses.  She  was  a  tall,  handsome  girl,  of  symet- 
rical  proportions,  Avith  magnificent  dark  eyes  and  hair, 
the  latter  falling  down  over  her  shoulders,  and  in  the  course 
of  her  performance  she  shook  it  backwards  and  forwards 
like  a  mane.  Her  tight-fitting  flesh-colored  bodice  dis- 
played her  well-developed,  but  handsome  bust,  and  her 
feet  looked  small  and  slender  in  the  scarlet  buskins  with 
which  they  were  covered.     She  was  evidently  not  more 


THE  felon's  bequest.  29 

than  twenty  years  of  age,  and  Cransac  thought  it  was  well 
woi-th  the  trouble  to  come  so  far  to  see  her. 

"  Is  not  3'oung  Cornelian  magnificent  ?"  asked  Valbrec. 

"  What  do  you  call  her  ?"  asked  George.  "  Cornelian  I 
What  a  strange  name  !" 

"  Of  course,  it  is  a  fancy  name.  Cornelian  is  a  precious 
stone,  and  it  suits  her  very  well.  She  has  plenty  of  go  in 
her." 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  something  evil  about  her.  I  don't 
wonder  that  the  beasts  are  afraid  of  her,  when  she  looks 
at  them  as  she  does." 

"  She  has  a  way  of  looking  at  men  too,  as  you  will  see 
presently,"  auswered  Valbrec,  with  a  smile,  for  this  was 
not  his  first  ^asit  to  the  menagerie.  The  beautifiil  tamer 
of  beasts  went  through  her  performance  completely.  At 
a  word  from  her,  and  her  voice  was  very  sweet,  the  hens 
leapt  through  hoops  like  mere  poodles,  and  if  they  hesi- 
tated she  thrashed  them  soundly.  With  hearty  kicks 
from  her  delicate  little  boots,  she  made  the  unwilling, 
however,  do  tbeir  work,  seeming  to  fear  them  no  more 
than  if  the}'  had  been  King  Charles'  spaniels.  She  con- 
cluded the  performance  by  collecting  all  the  tawny  mon- 
sters together  in  one  corner,  and  made  a  bed  of  them, 
reclining  upon  one  huge  black  maned  lion,  with  her  elbow 
resting  on  his  head,  and  placing  her  feet  on  a  lioness, 
who  served  as  a  footstool.  This  was  the  finale,  and  the 
applause  was  long  and  loud.  Cornelian  came  to  the  front 
of  the  cage  and  bowed,  at  the  same  time  tapping  her 
scarlet  boots  with  her  whip,  and  letting  her  eyes  wander 
contemptuously  over  the  crowd,  as  though  she  were  say- 
ing: "Yes,  gentleman — yes,  it  is  with  my  whip  that  I 
keep  my  lovers  in  order." 

All  at  once  her  eyes  met  those  of  George's  and  in  a 
moment  their  expression  changed,  and  as  she  gazed  on 
his  handsome  face  her  look  became  soft  and  tender. 

"  Good,"  said  Valbrec,  nudging  his  friend.  "  You  have 
*  mashed '  Cornelian,  she  has  no  eyes  for  anyone  but  you 
at  present.  You  hit  her  flying  at  the  first  shot,  added 
Paul,  laughing. 

"Be  quiet,"  answered  George.  "It  is  only  a  trick  of 
her  profession;  and  if  she  has  taken  a  liking  to  me,  I  can't 
say  that  I  return  it.  I  should  always  fancy  that  there 
was  an  odor  of  wild  beasts  hanging  about  her," 


30  THE  felon's  bequest. 

They  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  and  yet  it  seemed  as  if  Corne- 
lian could  hear  what  they  were  saying,  for  the  expression 
of  her  face  again  became  threatening,  and  the  vibrations 
of  her  whip  more  rapid. 

"  She  is  mad  because  you  don't  give  in  at  once," 
whispered  Paul." 

Meanwhile  the  crowd  continued  to  applaud  the  Queen 
of  the  Lions.  For  a  moment  she  remained  motionless, 
then  with  a  quick  and  sudden  movement  of  her  white 
hand  she  hurled  the  whip  straight  at  George's  face,  and 
it  was  only  by  good  luck  that  he  caught  it  ere  it  reached 
its  destination.  The  lions,  who  had  been  prowling  about 
her  feet,  seemed  half  disposed  to  take  advantage  of  her 
defencel^s  state;  but,  stepping  back,  she  opened  a  door 
at  the  other  end  of  the  cage,  and  disappeared  in  the 
midst  of  a  tumult  of  applause. 

The  scene  had  passed  with  the  rapidity  of  a  flash  of 
lightning,  and  the  audience  could  not  understand  why 
she  had  thrown  away  her  whip,  unless  she  had  done  so  in 
mere  bravado,  as  a  dancer  on  the  tight-rope  casts  aside  the 
balancing  pole  to  show  that  the  feat  can  be  performed 
without  it.  The  tent  was  filled  with  shouts  for  her  recall, 
but  she  did  not  appear  again  and  George  remained  utterly 
astounded,  holding  in  his  hand  the  whip  which  he  had 
so  adroitly  caught. 

"  That  is  the  way  she  *  throws  her  handkerchief,'  said 
Paul,  bursting  with  laughter.  "You  have  only  to  go 
behind  and  give  it  to  her;  depend  on  it  she  will  receive 
you  kindly." 

"  I  doubt  it.  Besides,  I  don't  care  whether  she  does  or 
not,"  answered  George  much  vexed  at  being  an  object  of 
curosity  to  the  spectators,  some  of  whom  now  began  to 
sing  in  chorus — 

*'  He  will  keep  it, 
He  won't  keep  it." 

And  not  knowing  what  course  to  pursue,  he  compromised 
the  matter  by  hurling  it  back  into  the  cage,  where  the 
lions  soon  tore  it  to  pieces  with  teeth  and  claws.  At  this 
there  was  much  applause,  and  it  was  suggested  that 
George  should  take  Cornelian's  place  in  the  cage,  as  the 
audience  had  now  decided  that  he  was  a  beast  tamer  in 
plain  clothes,  who  had  come  to  witness  the  performance 


THE  felon's  bequest.  31 

of  a  fellow  artist  of  the  weaker  sex.  George  thought  that 
it  would  be  advisable  to  leave  the  place,  when  a  fresh 
episode,  and  one  quite  unlooked  for,  caused  a  diversion  of 
an  unpleasant  character. 

A  young  woman,  very  loudly  dressed,  and  escorted  by 
two  or  three  young  dandies,  elbowed  her  way  noisily 
through  the  crowd,  and  George,  who  had  turned  round 
to  effect  his  escape,  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Juhet 
Taupier.  He  still  had  a  passionate  longing  to  see  her 
again,  and  he  could  easily  have  forgiven  her  for  the  abuse 
that  she  had  lavished  on  him,  but  he  could  have  dispensed 
with  meeting  her  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  where  his 
presence  had  already  created  some  sensation.  Juliet, 
however,  soon  showed  him  what  her  feelings  were. 

"  So  the  fine  gentleman  has  got  out  of  Mazas,  I  see," 
remarked  she,  withering  him  with  a  contemptuous  look, 
"  and  has  lost  no  time  going  on  the  spree.  In  Queer 
Street  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  fair  of  Montmartre  in 
the  evening." 

At  the  name  of  Mazas  the  bystanders  pricked  up  their 
ears,  and  George  wished  himself  a  hundred  feet  below  the 
surface  of  the  earth. 

"  And  to  puU  himself  together  he  is  making  eyes  at  a 
beast  tamer,"  sneered  Juliet;  "  that  is  the  finishing  touch." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  George  angrily. 

"I  hold  my  tongue!  Not  whilst  I  have  breath:  and 

every  time  that  I  meet  you,  you  shall  have  a  taste  of  it,  to 

teach  you,  my  good  fellow,  not  to  mix  me  up  in  your 

dirty  business," 
<(  J  " 

"  Yes,  you.  Was  it  on  your  account — yes  or  no  —that 
the  pohce  came  and  searched  my  house,  upset  my  dresses, 
and  looked  into  my  drawers.  I  am  an  honest  girl,  and 
was  not  afraid  of  them,  but  I  saw  no  fun  in  it,  I  can  tell 
you,  and  I  tell  you  plainly  that  you  shall  pay  dearly  for 
it." 

"Calm  yourself,  my  dear  creature,"  remarked  the  jour- 
nalist ironically,  "  or  they  will  put  you  out  of  the  booth." 

"  I  should  just  like  to  see  them  do  it.  And  I  can't 
understand  how  it  is  that  you  Valbrec,  who  are  a  decent 
fellow,  can  be  seen  about  with  a  fellow  just  out  of  quod." 

"  You  insolent  wretch  !  "  cried  George,  making  a  threat- 
ening gestiire,  but  the  girl  darted  behind  one  of  her  male 


32  THE  felon's  bequest. 

friends,  a  fair,  dandified  fellow,  quite  unknown  either  to 
Valbrec,  or  Cransac.  "Arthur,''  cried  she  "I  trust  that 
you  will  not  permit  me  to  be  insulted ! " 

Arthur  had  not  a  very  bellicose  appearance,  but  when 
appealed  to  in  such  a  manner  he  had  no  alternative,  and 
so  he  interfered  without  the  slightest  enthusiasm,  but 
rather  as  a  man  who,  having  a  disagreeable  duty  to  per- 
form, gets  through  it  somehow  or  other. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  thing  for  him  that  he  did  so. 
Cransac's  hand  was  raised,  and  it  fell  on  Arthur's  cheek 
with  a  loud  smack,  that  rang  through  the  booth.  "  I 
shall  expect  your  friends  to-morrow,"  cried  Cransac. 
"  The  woman  with  you,  can  give  you  my  address,"  and 
hitting  right  and  left,  he  forced  his  way  through  the 
gaping  crow  that  had  gathered  round  him,  and  gained  the 
door,  closely  followed  by  Valbrec.  At  that  moment  he 
came  across  Cornelian,  who,  having  hastily  thrown  a  shawl 
over  her  shoulders,  had  come  in  front  to  catch  one  more 
ghmpse  of  the  good-looking  young  fellow  that  she  had 
caught  sight  of  through  the  bars  of  the  lion's  cage.  Cransac 
took  no  notice  of  her,  and  when  he  again  found  himself  in 
the  boulevard,  he  said  to  "Valbrec :  "  At  last  I  have  given  one 
of  them  a  box  on  the  ear.  We  shall  see  if  this  dandy  has 
got  an  ounce  of  pluck,  and  if  he  has,  I  hope  to  oblige  him 
with  as  pretty  a  sword-thrust  as  he  could  wish." 

"  If  he  will  fight,"  muttered  the  journalist  j  "  but  I 
doubt  it." 

"  He  will  be  an  awful  cur  if  he  pockets  the  slap  that  I 
gave  him  and  says  nothing." 

"Well,  he  doesn't  look  much  like  a  fighting  man. 
Juliet's  lovers  are  a  shy  lot,  according  to  report.  It  seems 
to  me  that  I  have  seen  that  fellow's  face  somewhere,  and 
not  in  the  best  society  either.  I  am  not  quite  certain,  for 
then  he  had  a  heavy,  fair  moustache  like  yours,  but  he 
may  have  cut  it  off." 

"  I  don't  care  about  his  moustache,  but  I'll  slit  his  skin 
for  him." 

"  I  hope  that  you  will — only  don't  be  vexed  at  what  I  am 
going  to  say.  He  has  an  excuse  for  declining  to  meet  you ; 
Siat  jade  Juliet  shouted  out  before  fifty  persons  that  you 
had  just  come  out  of  Mazas." 

"  Again !    Am  I  always  to  have  that  insult  flung  in  my 


THE  felon's  bequest."  '  33 

face,  and  all  because  I  have  the  misfortune  to  look  like  a 
rogue  ? " 

"It  won't  last  forever,  but  you  must  have  patience. 
You  know  that  you  are  innocent,  so  despise  your  slan- 
derers, and  scorn  the  opinions  of  fools.  Let  the  storm 
pass,  and  the  day  will  come  when  you  can  take  your  re- 
venge ;  when  you  can  catch  your  double." 

"  And  in  the  meantime,  I  am  to  live  the  life  of  a  Pariah ! 
No,  I  would  rather  put  a  bullet  through  my  head." 

"  That  is  the  resource  of  men  who  have  lost  their  posi- 
tion and  have  no  energy  to  reconquer  it.  The  sudden 
conclusion  of  your  connection  with  Juliet  has  for  the 
moment  unnerved  you,  but  be  firm.  Suicide  is  not  a 
solution  of  your  difficulties,  especially  when  you  have 
nothing  to  reproach  yourself  with.  Pluck  up  your  spirits, 
and  make  up  your  mind  to  live." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  living — and  for  whom  shall  I  live  ?  " 

"  For  me,  in  the  first  place,  who  am  your  true  friend, 
and  then  for  a  woman — oh !  don't  get  angry.  All  women 
in  this  world  are  not  Juliets.  You  will  easily  find  one  who 
deserves  to  be  loved,  for  you  are  a  man  that  they  all  like  ; 
for  instance,  look  at  the  Queen  of  the  Lions." 

"  Are  you  going  to  chaff  me  now  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit ;  and  the  proof  is  that  I  am  ready  to  do  battle 
against  everyone  in  your  behalf.  Just  now  you  are  too 
excited  to  reason  calmly.  Go  home,  sleep  soundly,  and 
come  and  see  me  to-morrow  at  the  office  of  the  paper. 
The  night  brings  good  counsel  with  it,  and  you  will  be 
the  mox'e  disposed  to  listen  to  me,  when  I  plainly  lay 
before  you  the  steps  I  propose  to  take  to  set  you  up  once 
more.  And  so,  dear  friend,  good  night,  and  try  not^to 
dream  of  Cornelian." 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  any  more  about  that  mountebank." 

"All  right ;  but  you  won't  escape  her.  I  wiU  lay  you 
two  to  one  that  she  will  ask  Juliet  for  your  address,  and 
five  to  two  that  Juliet  will  give  it  to  her,  in  hopes  of  doing 
you  a  bad  turn." 

With  these  parting  words  Paul  Valbrec  shook  his  friend 
warmly  by  the  hand,  and  set  off  at  a  rapid  pace  towards 
the  Rue  Fromentin. 

George  was  left  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  merry  crowd 
on  its  way  to  the  fair,  deafened  by  the  din  of  cymbals 
ftiid  the  blast  of  trumpets,  and  bljoded  by  the  rays  of 


34  THE  felon's  bequest. 

electric  light  which  gleamed  from  the  top  of  the  Cocberi 
Theatre.  The  music  and  the  lights  seemed  to  mock  his 
despair,  and  he  was  eager  to  remove  himself  from  the 
hghts  and  merriment.  The  wise  advice  of  Paul  Valbrec 
had  neither  calmed  or  consoled  him.  He  had  no  more 
thoughts  of  suicide.  All  he  thought  of  was  to  arm  him- 
self for  the  fray.  Society  had  cast  him  out;  and  he 
declared  war  against  Society. 

Money  is  the  sinews  of  war;  and  he  knew  where  to 
procure  it. 

CHAPTEB  V. 

A  NEW  MONTE  OBISTO. 

Thebe  was  the  prisoner's  treasure  still  available,  a 
stolen  treasure  doubtless,  but  which,  abandoned  as  it  was, 
might  fall  into  worse  hands  than  his.  Some  hours  before, 
when  he  had  not  yet  seen  aU  the  horrors  of  his  position, 
he  had  determined  not  to  touch  the  accursed  money,  bnt 
now  his  scruples  had  fled  as  his  illusions  were  dissipated. 
He  vowed  that  he  would  use  it  to  punish  the  wicked,  and 
to  recompense  the  good,  as  Monte  Cristo  had  done  in 
Dumas'  romance.  He  saw  no  harm  in  usurping  the 
functions  of  Providence,  which  too  often  seems  to  act  in 
a  manner  not  at  all  in  accordance  with  human  ideas. 
He  did  not  even  stop  to  consider  whether  his  sudden  rise 
to  affluence  would  not  increase  the  cloud  of  suspicion 
which  already  hung  so  heavily  over  him.  "  It  has  been 
ordained,"  thought  he,  "  that  I  should  deviate  from  the 
right  path,  and  let  those  who  have  treated  me  as  a  guilty 
person  bear  the  blame.  I  feel  no  remorse."  He  then 
looked  at  his  watch,  and  saw  that  it  was  a  quarter  to 
twelve.  "  Let  me  get  in,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  it  is  time 
to  be  at  work;  the  Rue  Gabrielle  is  not  far  fi'om  this." 
As  a  smoker,  George  was  of  course  provided  with  matches, 
but  these  would  not  afford  sufficient  light  for  the  work  that 
he  had  in  hand,  and  for  a  moment  he  thought  of  going 
to  his  own  rooms  and  procuring  a  candle,  for  all  the  shops 
in  the  neighborhood  were  closed.  Whilst  he  was  hesi- 
tating, a  man  came  by  with  a  truck,  upon  which  were 
Bome  of  those  Venetian  or  Algerian  lanterns,  which  afford 
I  cheap  method  of  illumination,  and  George  bought  haW 


THE  felon's  bequest.  35 

a  dozen  of  them,  fearing  that  one  would  prove  insuffi- 
cient if  the  work  that  he  w  as  about  to  undertake  should 
prove  longer  than  he  thought.  Fiu-uished  with  these 
paper  funnels,  with  the  small  piece  of  inflammable  matter 
at  the  bottom,  George  started  boldly  for  the  ruined  house. 
The  streets  through  which  he  had  to  pass  were  almost 
deserted;  but  he  had  no  fear  of  night  j)i-owlers,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  passers-by  were  so  scarce  that  these 
gentry  did  not  think  it  woi'th  their  while  to  lay  in  wait 
for  them.  When  he  reached  the  wooden  gate,  he  found 
it  still  half  opened,  as  he  had  left  it,  and  stopped  a 
moment  before  j)assing  through  it. 

He  gazed  round  him,  and  listened. 

He  saw  nothing  but  the  dark  shapes  of  the  trees  on 
the  sloj)e,  and  only  heard  that  vague,  indescribable 
sound,  which  seems  the  respiration  of  sleeping  Paris,  the 
distant  rattle  of  carriage  wheels,  and  the  creaking  of  the 
leafless  boughs  as  they  s"s\nmg  backwards  and  forwards 
La  the  winter's  breeze. 

Very  hkely  that  Juliet,  whom  he  loved  so  much  and 
who  had  so  openly  insulted  him,  was  now  supj)ing  with 
her  friends  in  some  night  tavern,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  the  idiotic  hum  of  their  conversation  could  reach 
his  ears  even  here.  And  here  in  front  of  him  lay  a  for- 
tune, absolutely  at  his  own  disposal;  all  that  he  had  to 
do  was  to  carry  it  away,  and  with  it  he  could  revenge 
himself  upon  the  woman  who  had  insulted  him,  ruling 
her  by  the  only  master  she  respected — Gold.  He  pic- 
tured her  to  himself  kneeling  at  his  feet,  and  he,  hiunili- 
ating  her,  by  treating  her  with  contempt — as  if  a  woman 
like  her  could  ever  feel  the  sting  of  his  humihation.  It 
would  have  been  better  for  George  to  remember  that  in 
this  mighty  city  of  Paris,  so  full  of  jDoverty  and  wealth, 
there  are  thousands  of  honest  girls  who  gain  their  bread 
by  hard  toil,  and  that  thrice  happy  are  the  industrious 
workers  upon  whom  they  set  their  affections.  But  in  the 
circle  in  which  George  had  lived,  the  world  of  finance 
and  business,  there  was  Httle  thought  for  those  who 
suffered  and  toiled.  Without  further  hesitation  he 
struggled  through  the  wilderness  of  tangled  weeds,  and 
found  it  harder  than  he  had  done  in  his  first  risit  by  the 
light  of  day. 

After  tearing  his  ha^ds  and  clothes,  he  at  last  arrived 


36  THE  felon's  bequest. 

at  the  steps.  High  above  him  rose  the  house,  dark  and 
silent,  like  a  ruined  donjon  keep.  Everything  seemed 
quiet,  and  there  was  but  little  fear  of  anyone  coming  to 
distiu'b  him  at  his  work.  He  went  in,  and  lighting  one 
of  his  paper  lanterns,  hung  it  to  a  nail  in  the  chimney, 
so  that  the  light  might  not  be  "\isible  from  the  outside. 
The  outer  door  had  neither  bolt  nor  lock,  but  he  piled 
against  the  lower  portion  of  it  some  of  the  bricks  and 
plaster  that  lay  in  a  heap  in  front  of  the  chimney-j)iece. 
He  did  all  this  slowly  and  silently,  like  a  man  who  is  in 
no  huny,  but  who  thinks  that  he  ought  not  to  neglect 
any  precautions,  and  when  he  had  completed  his  task  he 
crouched  do^vn  in  front  of  the  famous  brass  plate,  so  as 
to  examine  it  more  closely.  It  was  blackened  with  soot, 
as  he  had  noticed  on  his  first  Aisit.  As  he  looked  at  it 
more  attentively  he  could  see  under  this  soot  the  form 
of  screws  and  hinges.  The  hinges  were  at  the  bottom, 
the  iron  pin  at  the  top.  Cransac  seized  the  pin;  at  first 
it  resisted  his  efforts,  because  it  had  grown  rusty,  but 
after  a  time  it  yielded  and  turned  round  with  a  creaking 
soiind,  such  as  an  old-fashioned  clock  makes  when  it  is 
wound  up.  After  the  third  turn  he  heard  a  sound  like  a 
bolt  being  withdrawn  from  its  socket,  and  the  pin  would 
move  no  further.  Evidently  the  work  was  over,  and  the 
fastenings  undone.  All  that  remained  was  to  pull  it  down; 
he  did  so,  and  the  plate  yielded  so  quickly  that  he  had  great 
difficulty  in  preventing  its  falling  with  a  loud  crash.  It 
had  been  held  in  its  place  by  three  steel  bolts,  but  before 
he  could  examine  these,  a  gust  of  damp,  mephitic  air  blew 
right  in  his  face,  and  made  him  start  back.  It  was  like 
the  exhalation  that  arises  when  an  abandoned  well  has 
been  re-opened,  or  when  a  cellar  that  has  been  closed  for 
a  long  time  has  once  again  been  put  in  use.  But  the  feeling 
of  cold  that  chilled  Cransac  was  mingled  with  an  impression 
of  disgust  at  the  indescribable  odor.  There  was  some- 
thing deathlike  in  it,  and  Cransac  asked  himself  if  the  real 
owner  of  the  stolen  treasure  had  not  been  buried  beneath 
it  by  his  murderer.  The  Venetian  lantern  gave  but  a  feeble 
light,  and  he  could  only  see  in  front  of  him  a  wall,  and 
when  he  looked  more  closely  a  heap  of  objects,  the  shape 
of  which  he  could  not  readily  distingmsh.  The  opening 
in  the  wall  was  not  more  than  three  feet  in  diameter,  it 
\,'m  not,  therefore,  Jikely  that  a  humas  bodjj'  had  beeii 


THE  felon's  bequest.  37 

buried  there.  A  little  reassured  by  this,  George  lit  another 
of  his  lanterns,  and  after  waiting  until  the  fotd  air  had 
evaporated,  he  put  his  head  iato  the  cavity,  in.  which  he 
began  to  fear  that  he  shovdd  find  nothing.  He  then  saw 
that  the  bottom  was  covered  \\'ith  a  bed  of  fine  sand,  and 
that  underneath  this  was  a  number  of  small  rolls  of  paper, 
which  looked  like  cartridges  for  a  large  bored  gun.  Was 
the  treasiu'e  nothing  but  ammunition  hidden  away  by  some 
band  of  conspirators?  That  was  hardly  likely.  These  rolls, 
which  were  arranged  in  order,  had  an  outer  -vNTapping  of 
green  paper.  Cransac  took  up  one,  after  having  cleared 
away  the  sand  \Nith  his  fingers,  and  saw  at  once,  from  its 
weight,  that  it  was  a  packet  of  a  thousand  francs  in  gold, 
like  cashiers  of  banks  make  up  for  their  customers.  At  a 
fii'st  glance  George  could  see  fifty  of  these  packets  which 
of  themselves  were  a  fortune,  but  others  lay  beneath  them, 
and  he  could  not  get  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  deposit, 
but  he  had  every  reason  to  suppose  that  an  incalciolable 
amount  of  coined  gold  was  hidden  away  in  this  metallic 
receptacle.  In  order  to  know  the  exact  amoimt  of  his 
treasure,  he  must  have  emptied  the  hiding  place,  but  it 
woidd  have  been  useless  for  him  to  do  so,  for  he  could 
not  have  carried  it  away  in  his  pockets,  nor  yet  on  his 
back,  even  if  he  had  a  sack  to  stow  it  away  in. 

The  prisoner  of  Mazas  had  told  the  truth. 
•  To  gain  such  an  enormous  booty  he  must  have  broken 
into  the  strong  room  of  one  of  the  largest  banking  estab- 
Hshments ;  and  yet,  if  he  had  done  so,  how  had  he  contrived 
to  carry  away  the  treasure  to  the  toj)  of  the  hill  of  Mont- 
martre  ?  But  Cransac  did  not  trouble  himself  to  solve  this 
riddle ;  all  he  thought  of  was  how  he  cotdd  best  appropriate 
this  treasTire  which  it  was  so  difficult  to  carry  away.  The 
most  sensible  method  was  to  take  aAvay  a  Httle  at  a  time, 
and  make  a  series  of  -s-isits  to  the  spot.  He  made  up  his 
mind  to  act  in  this  manner,  when  a  sudden  sound  made 
him  start.  He  turned  sharply  round,  but  the  door  was 
still  fast,  nor  was  any  suspicuous  form  Aisible  from  the 
window.  The  sovmd  had  come  from  upstaii-s,  and  as 
Cransac  listened  eagerly,  he  fancied  that  he  heard  some- 
one walking  in  the  room  above.  Then  the  noise  ceased, 
and  it  had  been  so  sUght  that  George  asked  himself  if  he 
might  not  be  deceived.  It  was  perhaps  only  a  rat  scamp- 
ering across  the  flooring.     There  were  alway  plenty  of  rats 


38  THE  felon's  bequest. 

in  deserted  houses,  and  tlie  one  in  tlie  Rue  Gabrielle  might 
be  full  of  them.  Entirely  re-assured,  he  went  to  work, 
and  drew  from  the  receptacle  twenty  packets  of  a  thousand 
francs  each,  and  put  ten  in  each  j)Ocket  of  his  overcoat. 
He  could  not  have  carried  any  more,  for  ten  thousand 
francs  in  gold  weigh  at  least  six  jDOiuids,  and  the  linings 
and  sewing  of  a  pocket  must  be  strong  to  resist  such  a 
strain.  Besides,  twenty  thousand  francs  would  sujffice  to 
start  him  in  the  new  life  into  which  he  was  about  to  enter. 
All  he  had  to  do  was  to  pay  frequent  visits  until  the 
treasure  was  completely  exhausted,  and  this  he  made  up 
his  mind'to  do,  for  he  determined  for  the  future  to  lead 
the  life  of  a  millionaire. 

And  if  people  suspected  the  source  of  his  miraculous 
change  of  fortune,  he  had  his  answer  ready,  an  answer 
which  his  friend  Yalbrec  had  unconsciously  suggested  to 
him.  He  would  say  that  his  father — that  unknown  father 
who  had  provided  for  the  wants  of  his  childhood,  and 
early  youth — had  made  himself  known  to  him  before  his 
death,  and  had  willed  all  his  property  to  him.  To  give 
an  air  of  truth  to  this  story,  he  had  only  to  go  and  pass 
a  month  away  from  Paris,  and  on  his  return  relate  that 
he  had  inherited  this  magnificent  legacy  in  some  foreign 
country.  People  woiild  take  it  all  for  granted  without 
troubling  themselves  to  go  there  and  make  inquiries,  and 
certainly  no  one  would  guess  that  the  bequest  came  to 
him  from  a  felon.  There  was  nothing  now  for  him  to  do 
but  to  return  to  his  rooms  in  the  Rue  Frochot  with  such 
a  sum  in  his  possession  as  he  had  never  before  had.  He 
often  gained  as  much  every  year  by  his  brokerages,  but 
he  spent  it  as  fast  as  he  made  it;  and  this  was  the  first 
time  that  he  had  had  so  large  a  sum  at  his  disposal  at  one 
time.  He  put  back  the  platef,  and  turned  the  jain,  made 
sure  that  the  steel  bolts  had  gone  home  in  their  sockets, 
and  that  all  was  firm  and  secure;  then  sprang  to  his  feet, 
although  his  pockets  were  so  hea^dly  weighted  with  gold, 
and  was  about  to  extinguish  his  lantern,  when  he  heard 
a  dull,  heavy  sound,  as  though  some  article  of  furniture 
had  been  overturned  on  the  flooring  of  the  room  above. 

He  had  seen  no  fm-niture  when  he  had  visited  the 
rooms  in  the  morning,  but  there  must  have  been  some- 
thing to  cause  the  noise,  and  he  felt  that  there  was  some- 
one upstairs.    At  first  he  thought  of  beating  a  retreat. 


THE   felon's   bequest.  ^d 

■without  troubling  himself  to  find  out  who  it  was  that  had 
introduced  themselves  into  the  uninhabited  house,  but 
the  thought  crossed  his  mind  that  perhaps  this  nocturnal 
visitor  had  come  upon  the  same  errand  as  himself,  and 
he  did  not  feel  at  all  disposed  to  share  the  treasure 
with  him.  A  timid  man  wovdd  have  given  way,  but 
George  Cransac  was  endowed  with  a  disposition  that  led 
him  to  carry  out  his  resolution  to  the  end.  He  had  no 
weapon,  but  nature  had  furnished  him  with  a  pair  of 
strong  arms  and  a  courageous  heart;  and,  with  lus  lan- 
tern in  his  hand,  he  moved  towards  the  staircase  leading 
to  the  upper  rooms.  This  was  an  act  of  the  greatest 
imprudence,  for,  even  supposing  that  he  succeeded  in 
expelling  the  intruder,  he  ran  the  risk  of  being  recog- 
nized by  a  person  who  was  certainly  not  on  these  prem- 
ises with  any  good  motive.  Cransac  hesitated  for  a 
moment  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  he  heard  nothing 
more;  but  at  this  moment  a  whiff  of  suffocating  smoke 
rolled  down,  as  if  to  meet  him,  causing  him  to  cough 
violently.  It  was  too  late  now  to  draw  back.  The  cough 
must  have  betrayed  his  presence,  and  if  the  intruder  had 
accidently  or  intentionally  set  fire  to  the  house,  there 
might  yet  be  time  to  extinguish  a  conflagration,  which 
would  certainly  bury  in  the  smoking  ruins  the;  enormous 
treasures  of  the  prisoner  of  Mazas. 


40  THE  felon's  bequest, 

CHAPTER  YL 

THE   BRAZTER   OF   OHABOOAIi. 

Cbansao  ran  rapidly  up  the  stairs,  and  in  another  moment 
arrived  on  the  first  floor  ;  he  was  not  surprised  to  find  the 
door  shut,  and  the  smoke  that  had  met  him  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  pouring  through  the  crevices  in  the  broken 
panels.  The  site  of  the  conflagration  was  there,  but  the 
incendiary  was  still  invisible.  Cransac  beat  his  clenched 
hand  against  the  door,  but  no  one  answered  his  ajjpeal  for 
admission.  Stepping  back  as  far  as  the  landing  would 
permit,  he  gave  the  door  a  violent  kick,  which  tore  it  from 
its  hinges  and  sent  it  flying  to  the  other  side  of  the  room. 
A  thick  cloud  of  smoke  issued  forth  and  made  George 
Cransac  recoil.  He  had  expected  to  be  attacked,  and 
stood  on  the  defensive;  but  no  one  appeared.  Now  or 
never  was  the  time  to  act,  and  without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation he  burst  into  the  room.  All  was  dark,  and  the 
feeble  light  which  his  lantern  gave  seemed  like  a  luminous 
paint  in  the  gloom.  In  entering,  he  stumbled  over  some 
object  which  rolled  further  into  the  room,  and  he  could 
feel  that  his  feet  were  crunching  some  substance  that  felt 
like  charcoal.  Instinctively  he  made  for  the  window  ; 
none  of  the  glass  was  broken,  and  it  was  tightly  closed. 
He  opened  it  at  once,  and  established  a  thorough  draught 
which  drove  away  the  smoke.  George  already  knew  that 
in  entering  he  must  have  stumbled  over  a  brazier,  and  that 
it  could  not  have  been  lighted  without  hands;  but  his 
thoughts  were  speedily  diverted  from  this  by  finding  as 
the  smoke  cleared  away  that  a  body  was  lying  at  his  feet. 
In  a  moment  he  knelt  down  beside  it,  and  saw  it  was  a 
woman.  The  head  of  the  unhappy  creature  was  almost 
in  contact  with  the  brazier,  and  her  hair  had  been  singed 
by  the  burning  embers  that  had  rolled  on  the  floor.  The 
first  thing  that  George  did  was  to  extinguish  these  by 
crashing  them  beneath  his  feet.  There  was  more  need  to 
do  this  than  to  assist  the  woman,  for  the  flooring  was  of 
pine,  and  would  soon  have  been  fanned  into  flame  by  the 
combined  draughts  from  the  door  and  window.  The 
nascent  conflagration  was  soon  extinguished,  and  blowing 


THE  felon's  bequest.  41 

out  and  pocketing  his  Venetian  lantern,  he  raised  up  the 
woman's  body  in  his  arms,  and,  carrying  her  down  the 
staii'S,  placed  her  on  the  steps  in  the  fresh  air.  She  was 
not  very  heavy,  but,  loaded  with  gold  as  he  was,  he  found 
his  task  by  no  means,  an  easy  one  ;  yet  he  could  not  find 
it  in  his  heart  to  abandon  a  fainting  woman.  He  knew 
that  she  was  not  dead,  for  he  could  feel  her  heart  beat ; 
but  she  was  totally  insensible,  and  the  first  thing  to  be 
done  was  to  bring  her  to.  As  he  groped  about  for  some 
more  convenient  seat,  his  hand  came  in  contact  with  a 
hollow  stone,  in  which  the  recent  rain  had  left  a  little 
water.  This  enabled  him  to  apply  the  simplest  remedy,  and 
one  that  is  usually  most  efiicacious  in  cases  of  syncope. 
He  sprinkled  this  cold  water  over  the  woman's  face,  and 
almost  immediately  she  shuddered,  and  murmured  a  few 
unconnected  words.  George  could  not  see  if  she  was 
pretty  or  not,  but  judging  from  her  figure  he  imagined 
she  must  be  young,  and  was  almost  in  a  position  to  guess 
at  her  history.  An  attemj)t  at  suicide  owing  to  some  dis- 
appointment in  love,  or  to  escape  from  the  curse  of 
poverty.  One  of  those  sad  dramas  in  real  life  so  often 
performed  in  Paris  in  the  garrets  of  the  poor. 

But  what  he  could  not  understand  was,  why  this  poor 
despairing  creature  has  chosen  the  deserted  house  in  the 
Rue  Gabrielle  for  the  place  of  her  death,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  ask  her  the  question  as  soon  as  she  should  be  in 
a  position  to  answer  him.  This  too  would  be  an  excellent 
opportunity  to  make  a  good  use  of  the  gold  with  which 
his  pockets  were  filled  if  poverty  had  driven  her  to  so 
rash  a  step.  Only  he  must  not  hang  about  the  house  too 
long,  for  it  was  most  imjjortant  that  he  should  not  be 
seen,  and  the  spot  was  not  a  safe  one.  The  smoke  might 
have  been  seen  by  some  of  the  police,  and  if  they  took  it 
into  their  heads  to  enter  the  garden,  it  would  be  difficult 
for  him  to  explain  his  business  there  at  such  an  hour, 
with  an  insensible  woman  at  his  feet;  then,  if  they  were 
not  satisfied  with  his  explanation,  they  would  take  him  to 
the  nearest  police-station  and  when  he  was  searched  the 
twenty  thousand  francs  in  his  pocket  would  be  brought 
to  light.  To  escape  from  this  perilous  position  with  as 
little  delay  as  possible,  he  wetted  the  eyes  of  the  insensi- 
ble woman,  slapped  her  hands,  and  even  shook  her  with 
some  degree  of  violence,  but  without  achieving  any  great 


42  THE  felon's  bequest. 

success.  Certainly  slie  contrived  to  sit  up  on  the  step, 
but  when  she  made  an  effort  to  rise  to  her  feet  she  sank 
down  again,  and  her  head  fell  on  George's  shoulder  as 
she  sank  into  his  arms.  He  was  compelled  to  press  her 
to  him  so  as  to  hold  her  up,  and  these  embraces  insensi- 
bly warmed  his  blood.  He  never  thought  of  the  danger 
that  he  ran  in  prolonging  them,  and  he  even  began  to 
hope  that  the  woman  he  had  saved  was  pretty,  and  might 
be  brought  to  love  him. 

At  last  he  thought  of  lighting  a  match  and  holding  it 
under  her  nose.  He  did  so;  her  eyes  opened  and  she 
saw  Q-eorge's  face  almost  touching  hers.  "  You ! — it  is 
you,  yoiu'self !  "  cried  she,  and  drew  him  to  her  so  rapidly 
that  their  lips  met.  He  had  only  time  to  see  by  the  fleet- 
ing light  of  the  match  that  she  was  beautiful,  and  he  did 
not  attempt  to  draw  back,  but  he  imagined  that  she  was 
delirious,  for  her  face  was  perfectly  unknown  to  him. 
Bat  there  is  an  end  to  everything,  even  to  kisses  and 
illusions,  and  the  woman  who  had  flung  herself  into  his 
arms  tore  herself  away,  and,  pushing  him  from  her,  ex- 
claimed: "Unhappy  woman  that  I  am,  it  is  not  he!" 
George  was  now  certain  that  she  was  mad.  What  else 
could  he  think  of  a  woman  who  first  took  him  for  her 
lover,  and  then  after  a  long'  and  tender  kiss,  repulsed  him 
with  horror !  But  he  soon  saw  that  he  had  deceived  him- 
self. She  was  not  mad;  the  shock  that  she  had  expe- 
rienced had  entirely  restored  her  to  her  senses,  which 
had  deserted  her  on  the  approach  of  suffocation.  "  For- 
give me,  sir,"  faltered  she;  "  but  I  have  been  the  dupe  of 
a  most  surprising  resemblance." 

"  I  don't  find  fault  with  your  mistake,"  answered  George 
with  a  smile. 

"  What  must  you  think  of  me  after  all  that  has  passed  ? 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  just  awoke  from  a  dream." 

"  It  was  no  dream.  You  had  attempted  to  kill  your- 
self; by  good  fortune  I  arrived  in  time  to  save  you." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  all  now.  I  lit  some  charcoal;  at 
first  I  suffered  terribly,  then  I  began  to  lose  my  senses, 
little  by  little,  as  one  does  when  sinking  into  sleep.  Ah ! 
sir,  why  did  you  hinder  me  from  dying  ?  " 

"  Dying — at  your  age !  " 

"I  am  young  in  years,  but  I  have  passed  through  as 
much  trouble  as  though  I  had  lived  a  century." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  43 

"But  I  hope  now  that  you  have  done  with  such 
thoughts  for  ever."  Then,  as  the  girl  made  no  reply,  he 
continued:  "  Pray  listen  to  me,  madam " 

"  Do  not  call  me  madam.     I  am  not  married." 

"  I  ask  you  no  questions.  All  I  ask  is  to  be  peiinitted 
to  come  to  your  aid.  I  do  not  knc>w  why  you  wanted  to 
kill  yourself,  but  I  swear  to  you  that  I  am  ready  to  do  all 
I  can  to  extricate  you  from  jour  difficulties.  It  was 
written  that  I  was  to  save  your  life,  and  it  was  no  doubt 
also  wiitten  that  you  would  accept  my  friendship.  Let 
us  aid  each  other  mutually  to  pass  through  life.  Do  not 
misunderstand  the  meaning  of  my  words.  I  do  not  pro- 
pose to  become  your  lover,  for  I  am  sure  you  have 
one " 

"I had  one,"  answered  the  girl,  "but  he  is  lost  to  me 
forever !" 

"  I  might  say  that  in  this  world  you  should  be  certain 
of  nothing,  but  will  content  myself  with  saying  that  I 
will  be  for  you  whatever  you  wish;  ajid  now  come  with 
me.* 

"Where?" 

"Wherever  you  wish  to  go;  but  I  will  not  leave  you 
alone  here." 

"  You  were  here  alone.     What  did  you  come  for  ?" 

"  Perhaps  to  put  an  end  to  my  life  like  yourself.  I 
was  on  the  ground  floor,  when  I  heard  you  upset  the 
brazier  of  charcoal  in  your  last  convulsive  struggles. 
You  know  what  followed.  So  here  we  are  both  of  us 
condemned  to  live." 

"  I  begin  to  believe  so  too,"  answered  the  girl,  simply. 

"  Then  take  my  arm,  and  let  us  leave  the  garden," 
returned  George. 

He  helped  her  to  her  feet,  and  assisted  her  to  walk, 
though  how  he  was  to  make  his  way  through  the  tangle 
with  a  companion  who  could  hardly  keep  her  feet  he  was 
at  a  loss  to  understand.  The  girl,  however,  relieved  him 
from  this  difficulty  by  pointing  out  a  side-path  which  was 
tolerably  open,  and  led  to  another  gate  which  opened  on 
to  a  flight  of  steep  steps  running  down  into  the  Bue 
Gabrielle. 

"  Was  this  the  road  by  which  you  came  in  ?"  asked  he. 

"  I  know  of  no  other." 

"  But  you  are  acquainted  with  the  house  ?" 


44  THE  pelon's  bequest. 

"  For  a  long  time  past.  I  used  to  play  in  the  garden 
when  I  was  a  little  child." 

"  You  live  in  this  quarter  of  the  city  ?" 

"I  used  to;  but  now  my  home  is  in  Belleville." 

"  And  you  came  all  this  distance  to  die  ?  " 

"I wished  no  one  to  know  of  my  death.  My  body 
would  have  been  carried  to  the  Morgue,  and  no  one  would 
have  recognized  it." 

"  Have  you  no  mother  ?" 

"  I  am  an  orphan." 

As  they  spoke  they  were  descending  side  by  side  the 
public  flight  of  steps  that  lead  to  the  Place  Saint  Pierre, 
and  Cransac  asked  himself  more  than  once  how  this  strange 
adventure  was  going  to  end.  It  had  commenced  in  so 
curious  a  manner  that  he  had  not  even  thought  of  what 
might  be  the  future  results,  and  he  had  hardly  glanced 
at  the  features  of  the  woman  he  had  rescued;  but  some- 
thing within  him  said  that  this  meeting  would  have  much 
to  do  with  his  future  life. 

The  girl  could  not  manage  to  walk  any  further,  and  on 
turning  into  the  Boulevard  Rochechouart  George  saw  a 
cafe  still  open.  It  was  one  of  those  with  a  verandah  to 
it,  and  seats,  so  that  customers  could  take  their  refresh- 
ments in  the  open  air.  His  companion  made  no  objection 
to  sitting  down  and  sipping  a  little  punch,  which  com- 
pletely restored  her. 

George  was  now  able  to  examine  her  features  by  the 
light  of  the  gas.  She  was  simply  attired  in  a  black  stuff 
dress,  like  a  poor  workgirl,  but  she  was  strangely  beauti- 
ful, pale,  and  dark,  with  a  sad  and  tender  look  upon  her 
face,  such  as  is  seldom  seen  amongst  girls  of  her  posi- 
tion. He  begged  her  to  tell  him  her  story,  and  she  made 
no  objection. 

"  Sir, "  said  she,  seriously,  "  I  owe  you  my  life,  and  now 
I  think  with  you,  that  I  ought  to  accept  the  destiny  which 
fate  has  accorded  to  me — that  is  to  say,  the  friendship  tbat 
you  offer  me;  but,  if  we  are  to  meet  again,  you  must 
know  who  I  am.  My  name  is  Cecile  Cambremer,  and  I  am 
twenty -two  years  of  age.  I  was  fifteen  when  my  father  died 
broken-hearted  after  a  heavy  pecuniary  loss,  which  he  had 
neither  expected  nor  deserved.  I  had  lost  my  mother 
before,  and  I  should  have  starved  if  a  kind  neighbor  had 
not  assisted  me,  and  taught  me  the  trade  of  an  artificial 


THE  felon's  bequest.  4o 

florist.  In  three  years  I  became  so  skillful  that  when  she 
died  I  was  able  to  eai-n  my  living,  and  carry  on  busi- 
ness on  my  own  account."  Cransac  could  not  help  think- 
ing that  this  recital  began  like  all  those  which  certain 
young  ladies  are  in  the  habit  of  confiding  to  rich  men: 
a  tale  of  good  birth,  unmerited  misfortune,  and  a  struggle 
for  existence.  He  only  half  beheved  in  her,  and  the  cyni- 
cal Valbrec,  had  he  been  present,  would  not  have  believed 
at  all;  but  she  continued  her  story  with  an  air  of  sin- 
cerity that  impressed  him  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  I  opened  a  shop,"  continued  Cecile,  "  and  I  was  doing 
well,  until  a  man  utterly  unworthy  of  me,  crossed  my 
path.  I  do  not  attempt  to  conceal  anything  from  you. 
I  might  have  married  an  honest  workman  in  my  own  rank 
of  life,  but  I  fell  deeply  in  love  with  this  man,  whom  I 
now  despise,  as  much  as  I  formerly  adored  him.  He  con- 
tinually put  off  our  marriage ;  and  when  he  found  that  I 
would  not  yield  to  his  seductions  he  was  profuse  in  his 
apoligies,  but  managed  to  draw  from  me  neaiiy  all  the 
money  I  made,  which  he  squandered  on  a  creature  well 
suited  to  him.  When  I  had  no  more  to  give  him  he  left  me 
to  misery  and  destitution.  I  heard  that  he  had  money, 
and  I  wrote  to  him — I  confess  it  to  my  shame — for  aid  and 
assistance,  but  my  letter  remained  unanswered.  Then  I 
felt  that  I  had  fallen  low  enough,  and  only  desired  to 
die." 

"  But  you  have  promised  to  live,"  cried  George  eagerly. 
"  and  it  is  your  own  fault  if  you  are  not  happy;  that  is,  if 
you  have  cured  youi'self  of  a  love  that  has  been  so  fatal 
to  you,  and  this  you  must  permit  me  to  doubt,  for  a  little 
time  back,  when  you  took  me  for  that  man " 

"  I  was  not  in  my  senses  then;  but  now  I  swear  to  you 
that  I  hate  him  as  much  as  I  formerly  loved  him.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  live.  I  have  had  to  close  my  shop 
for  want  of  money  to  pay  my  assistants,  but  I  can  get 
a  place " 

"No;  you  must  let  me  help  you." 

"  I  thauk  you,  sir;  but  I  can  take  nothing  from  you." 

"  What !  not  even  a  loan  ?  Why  you  would  take  one 
from  a  business  man  or  a  banker.  Then  why  refuse  to 
accept  one  from  me,  who  am  neither  one  or  the  other,  but 
who  is  able  to  render  you  \hU  sepjce  without  the  slight- 
est inconvenience  ?  " 


46  THE  felon's  bequest. 

Cecile  looked  George  full  in  the  face,  to  see  if  he  spoke 
seriously. 

"  I  can  read  your  thoughts,"  said  he.  "  You  think  that 
I  have  some  unworthy  motive  in  making  this  offer? 
Undeceive  yourself:  I  have  none.  I  do  not  purpose  to 
make  you  a  present  of  the  sum  you  require.  I  intend  to 
grant  you  a  loan,  and  you  shall  fix  the  rate  of  interest 
yourself." 

"  But,  sir,  I  do  not  know  you.  You  know  my  name, 
whilst  I " 

"  My  name  is  George  Cransac;  I  live  at  19,  Eue  Frochot, 
and  you  can  give  me  a  note  payable  on  demand.  Oh  ! 
not  this  evening.  You  can  send  it  to  me  to-morrow;  and 
I  will  give  you  my  word  of  honor  not  to  present  myself 
at  your  residence  without  your  consent." 

"  Then,"  said  Cecile,  slowly,  "  after  all  you  are  rich,  and 
yet  you  tell  me  that  you  went  into  that  deserted  house  in 
order  to  take  your  life." 

"Do  you  think  there  is  no  reason  for  suicide  except 
poverty  ?  There  are  many  other  reasons  to  induce  a  man 
to  make  away  with  himself." 

"  You  are  right.  Had  I  only  had  to  endure  poverty,  I 
should  never  have  sought  to  release  myself  by  death." 

"  Then  you  can  easily  understand  that  there  was  some 
other  reason  for  my  despair  than  want  of  money.  Take 
this,"  continued  George,  placing  one  of  his  packets  on  the 
table.     "  Will  a  thousand  francs  be  sufficient  ?" 

"  It  is  too  much,"  faltered  Cecile,  deeply  moved. 

"It  is  better  to  have  too  much  than  too  little;  and  now 
where  do  you  live  ?" 

"  22,  Avenue  de  Laumiere,  near  the  Park  des  Buttes 
Chaumont." 

"  Good.  I  shall  not  offer  to  see  you  home,  but  I  shall 
put  you  into  a  cab ;  and  I  shall  expect  your  note  of  hand 
payable  to  my  order  to-morrow  morning  by  post.  Do  not 
trouble  to  bring  it,  as  I  am  leaving  Paris  to-morrow 
evening.     When  I  return  I  will  let  you  know." 

George  uttered  these  last  words  in  a  dry,  business-like 
manner,  so  as  to  reassure  Cecile  as  to  the  honorable  inten- 
tions of  the  man  who  had  saved  her  life. 

A  cab  just  then  passed;  George  hailed  it,  half -forced 
the  parcel  of  gold  into  Cecile's  hand,  threw  a  five-franc 
piece  on  the  table  to  digcharg'e  the  reckoning,  paid  the 


THE  felon's  bequest.  47 

cab  fare,  and,  after  assisting  the  girl  in,  walked  off  with- 
out another  word  in  the  direction  of  the  Rue  Fro- 
chot.  He  had  need  of  little  rest,  but  he  determined  to 
devote  one  night  only  to  it,  for  he  had  resolved  to  put 
into  execution  the  plan  he  had  conceived  of  leading  a  new 
life.  He  would  wait  until  twelve  o'clock  for  a  visit  from 
the  seconds  of  Juliet's  new  lover,  and  whether  they  came 
or  not  he  would  write  a  letter  to  Paul  Valbrec,  informing 
him  that  he  had  been  siimmoned  to  England  by  letter, 
and  leading  him  to  suppose  that  it  had  something  to  do 
with  a  legacy;  to  remain  in  London  eight  days,  and  to 
return  to  Paris  again  in  the  guise  of  a  millionaire.  Then 
he  could  once  again  see  the  beautiful  Cecile,  who  had 
ah-eady  secured  a  corner  in  his  heart,  and  revenge  himself 
upon  those  who  had  insulted  and  repulsed  him. 

The  gold  that  he  had  procured  through  the  prisoner  of 
Mazas  did  not  lie  so  heavily  on  his  conscience  now  that  he 
had  employed  a  portion  of  it  in  assisting  a  woman  who 
had  been  so  cruelly  treated,  and  he  hoped  that  this  pro- 
pitious commencement  would  bring  him  good  luck. 

He  forgot  that  in  this  world  we  must  always  be  prepared 
for  the  unexpected. 


48  THE  felon's  bequest. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

A  millionaike's  perplexities. 

In  ten  days'  time  George  Cransac  returned  from 
London.  He  had  had  j)lenty  of  time  in  which  to  reflect, 
and  he  had  not  altered  any  of  his  plans.  He  had  indeed 
made  up  his  mind  more  firmly  than  ever  to  profit  by  the 
stroke  of  chance  that  had  made  him  a  rich  man..  He  felt 
no  remorse,  and  had  returned  to  Paris  like  a  victorious 
general  entexing  a  conquered  city.  He  had  written  from 
London  to  Paul  Valbrec,  and  had  received  a  letter  from 
him  congratulating  him,  and  urging  him  to  return  to 
Paris  as  soon  as  possible,  to  show  those  who  had  calum- 
niated him  that  he  was  now  rich,  and  to  shame  those  who 
had  repulsed  him  in  the  days  of  his  poverty.  George  did 
not  wish  to  return  to  his  small  apartment  in  the  Rue 
Frochot,  and  had  requested  Valbrec  to  secure  rooms  for 
him  at  the  Grand  Hotel.  He  came  to  Paris  by  the  night 
train,  and  slept  late,  and  after  breakfasting  in  his  own  room 
was  preparing  to  go  out,  when  his  faithful  friend  made 
his  appearance. 

"  Good  day,  millionaire,"  cried  he,  shaking  his  friend 
cordially  by  the  hand. 

George  returned  his  greeting  wannly;  but  in  his  own 
heart  he  was  not  very  hopeful  as  to  how  this  conversa- 
tion would  end,  for  he  felt  sure  that  his  fiiend  would  put 
several  difficult  questions  to  him,  and  in  this  he  was  not 
deceived. 

"  Well,  yours  is  an  almost  miraculous  adventure," 
remarked  the  journalist.  "  Do  you  not  remember  that  on 
the  evening  before  you  left  I  said  something  abont  this 
to  you  when  we  were  taking  our  absinthe  at  the  Cafe 
Riche  ?  I  then  predicted  that  this  mysterious  father  of 
yours  would  turn  up  one  day  and  make  you  his  heir.  I 
thought  then  that  I  was  only  chaffing,  but  you  see  that 
I  was  a  prophet  in  spite  of  myself.  And  now,  tell  me  this 
tale  of  a  thousand  and  one  niglits,  for  your  letters  have, 
as  yet,  given  me  no  details.  Are  you  the  son  of  a  prince, 
or  of  a  mere  capitalist  ?" 


THE  felon's  bequest.  49 

"And  suppose  I  told  you  that  I^ was  no  wiser  than  I 
was  before  ?"  said  George,  who  had  his  tale  all  cut  and 
dry. 

"  Impossible  I  The  author  of  your  days  cannot  have 
left  you  his  fortune  without  making  you  acquainted  with 
his  name." 

"I  don't  even  know  if  this  fortune  comes  from  my 
father.  I  received  a  letter  from  a  London  banker,  telling 
me  that  a  sum  of  fifty  thousand  pounds  sterling  had^been 
paid  into  my  ci'edit." 

"Twelve  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs — a  nice 
httle  lump." 

"  I  found  this  letter  awaiting  me  at  home,  after  I  had 
left  you  in  front  of  the  menagerie,  and  at  first  I  thought 
that  it  was  a  hoax.  But  this  banker  asked  me  to  bring 
all  documents  proving  my  identity,  and  added  that,  if  I 
wanted  it  he  would  advance  me  my  travelling  expenses; 
bnt  I  had  a  few  louis  left,  and  I  thought  that  in  my  des- 
perate position  it  wovdd  be  wise  to  risk  everything,  so  I 
acted  at  once,  and  it  was  well  I  did  so,  for  on  my  arrival 
I  saw  that  the  affair  was  a  bond  fide  one.  I  produced  my 
voting  card,  the  receipts  for  rent,  and  the  registration  of 
my  birth,  in  which  my  parents  Avere  described  as  unknown. 
He  then  asked  me  certain  questions  regarding  my  past 
life,  which  I  answered  in  a  satisfactory  manner,  and  then 
I  at  once  saw  that  he  had  been  made  acquainted  with 
various  incidents  in  my  life.  I  could  not,  however,  obtain 
from  him  the  slightest  information  regarding  the  name 
or  position  of  my  benefactor,  as  he  merely  contented  him- 
self with  saying  that  in  placing  this  siun  at  my  disposal, 
he  had  merely  acted  in  accordance  with  a  letter  of  advice 
that  he  had  received  from  one  of  his  New  York  corres- 
pondents, and  that  he  knew  nothing  more  about  the 
matter." 

"  But  this  is  a  perfect  fairy  tale  you  are  relating." 

"  It  is  like  one;  and  yet  I  am  obliged  to  beUeve  it,  for 
the  money  is  at  my  disposal." 

"  I  suppose  you  dipped  into  it  at  once  ?" 

"  I  should  have  liked  to;  but  I  should  not  have  known 
what  to  do  with  it,  so  I  only  drew  twenty  thousand  francs 
and  left  the  rest  with  him.  He  will  pay  me  interest 
until  I  have  found  some  good  investment  for  it  here." 

"  That  will  be  easy;  but  I  am  surprised  that  you  did 


50  THE  felon's  bequest. 

not  turn  it  into  bills  on  Paxis,  in  case  your  unknown 
benefactor  should  change  his  mind." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  muttered  George. 

"  But  you  must  think  of  it,  and  get  youi-  money  over 
here  as  soon  as  possible.  You  can  invest  it  profitably  and 
afterwards  you  can  sleep  in  peace,  having  nothing  further 
to  dread  at  the  hands  of  that  queer  fellow  who  has  just 
now  taken  it  into  his  head  to  make  you  a  rich  man. 
Above  all,  I  warn  you  to  lose  no  time,  and  for  this  rea- 
son: those  who  know  you  will  not  deprive  themselves  of 
the  pleasure  of  talking  over  your  change  of  position,  and 
will  ask  how  it  all  came  about;  and  I  don't  suppose  you 
want  to  publish  this  miraculous  history  everywhere." 

"Certainly  not,"  answered  George,  quickly;  "and  I 
beg  that  you  will  keep  it  to  yourself." 

"Very  well;  but  there  are  certain  ill-disposed  persons 
who  will  assert  that  you  are  spending  the  proceeds  of  the 
forged  check,  therefore  you  must  show  something  more 
than  mere  cash  in  hand.  "When  j'our  notary — for  you 
must  get  one — can  certify  that  you  possess  twelve  hun- 
dred thousand  francs,  no  one  can  say  that  such  a  sum 
comes  from  the  check  that  you  have  been  accused  of 
forging.  We  must  even  go  further,"  continued  Valbrec; 
"  the  police  have  their  eye  on  you.  You  were  discharged, 
but  that  does  not  guarantee  you  against  any  future  pro- 
ceedings; and  I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised  at  the 
examining  magistrate  calling  upon  you  to  give  him  the 
name  and  address  of  your  banker  in  London.  "What  is 
his  name  ?  " 

"  Campbell,"  replied  the  imprudent  Cransac,  giving  the 
first  name  that  came  into  his  head. 

'•Very  good;  if  they  question  you,  you  have  only  to 
give  his  name  and  address,  and  when  the  magistrate 
Jeams  that  the  money  was  paid  into  your  credit  in  Lon- 
don, he  will  not  bother  you  any  more.  All  you  will  then 
have  to  contend  with  is  the  malevolence  of  fools ;  but  we 
can  easUy  shut  up  these.  But  I  beg  you  to  believe,  old 
boy,  that  when  I  say  all  this  to  you,  it  is  not  because  I 
have  any  doubts  in  the  matter.  I  am  your  true  friend, 
and  I  prove  it  by  giving  you  good  advice,  which  I  am 
sure  you  will  follow;  and  now  I  will  back  you  up  against 
everyone,  and  in  all  quarters.  I  have  already  told  my 
friends  that  you  are  about  to  inherit  a  large  fortune,  but 


THE  felon's  bequest.  51 

I  did  not  say  where  from.  They  can  think,  if  they  like, 
that  it  is  from  the  inevitable  uncle  in  America,  and  I  want 
to  introduce  you  to  them  this  evening.  You  will  have  no 
further  occasion  to  turn  out  copy  as  a  means  of  liveH- 
hood;  but  it  is  a  good  thing  to  be  well  in  with  the  liter- 
ary world.  I  have  ordered  a  nice  little  dinner  at 
Brebant's,  for  eight  o'clock,  and  I  will  go  bail  that  you 
won't  be  bored." 

"  I  can't  promise  to  come." 

"  Oh !  my  dear  fellow,  you  won't  leave  me  in  the  lurch  ? 
Why,  I  have  announced  your  advent,  and  if  you  don't 
eome  they  will  think  that  you  are  afraid  to  show.  It  is 
settled,  is  it  not,  eh  ?  At  eight  o'clock  then,  at  Brebant's; 
ask  for  M.  Valbrec's  private  dining-room.  That  sounds 
the  right  thing,  does  it  not  ?  " 

Valbrec  then  took  his  leave,  and  George  did  not  at- 
tempt to  detain  him,  for  he  could  not  help  feehng  that  he 
had  for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour  made  him  feel  most 
uncomfortable. 

Poor  George,  from  the  commencement  of  his  conver- 
sation with  Valbrec,  had  enveloped  himself  in  a  maze  of 
falsehood,  and  he  would  have  had  the  greatest  difficulty 
in  holding  his  own  if  his  friend  had  pushed  his  questions 
home.  How,  then,  could  he  hope  to  sustain  this  tale  with 
persons  who  were  not  disposed  to  take  everything  for 
granted  ?  The  story  that  he  had  invented  regarding  his 
trip  to  Loudon  would  not  hold  water  if  strict  inquiries 
were  made,  and  in  the  coming  interview  he  had  a  sus- 
picion that  his  statement  Avould  afford  strong  grounds 
for  disbelief.  He  certainly  thought  Valbrec's  advice  ex- 
cellent; but  how  was  he  to  place  in  a  notary's  hands,  or 
in  a  bank,  the  money  that  was  concealed  at  the  back  of  a 
chimney — a  fortune,  of  which  he  did  not  even  know  the 
araount,  since  he  had  not  learned  the  extent  of  the  gold 
mine ;  but  which  appeared  to  consist  of  coin  which  he  was 
utterly  unable  to  i-emove  in  a  single  journey  ?  He  would 
have  to  make  frequent  trips  to  the  ruined  house,  which 
would  expose  him  to  many  perilous  meetings,  certainly 
more  disagreeable  than  his  encounter  with  Cecile  Cam- 
bremer.  It  would  be  necessary  to  conceal  the  money  in 
his  room  at  the  hotel,  or  else  take  it  to  the  money- 
changers for  conversion  into  l)ank-note8.  But  these  con- 
stant trips  would  infallibly  attract  attention  to  him,  and 


62  THE  felon's  bequest. 

so  the  foolish  idea  that  he  had  entertained  of  using  the 
hiding-place  of  the  convict  as  a  niche  for  his  treasui-e 
melted  away.  He  must  find  out  some  other  means,  or 
I'enounce  making  use  of  the  treasui-e;  and  to  do  this  last 
wovild  be  to  ahenate  himself  from  the  only  friend  who 
had  stood  by  him.  In  the  meantime,  until  he  could  hit 
upon  some  plan  to  extricate  him  from  his  embarrassing 
position,  he  resolved  to  pay  a  visit  to  one  whom  he  was 
most  anxious  to  see  once  more.  Since  his  sudden  depar- 
ture he  had  refrained  from  writing  to  the  girl  whose  life 
he  had  saved,  and  he  was  most  desirous  to  see  her;  for 
his  rescue  of  her  was  the  pleasantest  remembrance  that 
he  had  carried  away  with  him  from  Paris,  where  he  had 
experienced  many  hard  trials,  and  where  he  had  a  pre- 
sentiment he  should  pass  through  many  more. 


CHAPTER  Vni 

A    KOUGH   WOOING. 

Haying  at  last  made  up  his  mind,  George  left  the  Grand 
Hotel  and  turned  his  steps,  in  the  first  place,  to  his  former 
lodgings  in  the  Rue  Frochot.  At  the  time  he  took  leave 
of  Cecile  Cambremer  he  had  given  her  that  addi-ess,  and 
he  was  anxious  to  know  if  she  had  'WT.itten  to  him  diu'ing 
his  absence  in  England.  There  were,  no  doubt,  other 
letters  for  him  in  charge  of  the  porter,  and  it  was  neces- 
sary to  notify  to  that  extremely  disagreeable  personage 
his  intention  of  shortly  leaving  the  lodgings  that  he  had 
occupied.  On  his  departure  for  London  he  had  given 
notice,  and  he  almost  regretted  that  he  had  been  hasty, 
now  that  he  saw  the  many  inconveniences  attendant  on 
his  newly-acquired  fortune  ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  recall 
the  written  notice  he  had  given  his  landlord,  who  was  not 
much  prepossessed  in  his  favor.  Nothing,  therefore,  re- 
mained for  him  but  to  pay  up  the  rent  that  was  due,  and 
to  remove  his  furniture,  as  soon  as  he  had  found  a  suitable 
spot  in  which  to  take  up  his  abode.  The  fair  of  Mont- 
martre  was  not  yet  over  ;  but  when  he  came  to  its  neigh- 
borhood, it  was  the  time  when  most  of  the  shows  are 
closed,  so  that  there  was  not  that  turmoil  and  confusion 
that  there  had  been  on  the  evening  when  he  was  last 


THE  felon's  bequest.  63 

there.  On  reaching  his  home  in  the  Kue  Frochot,  he 
found  the  porter  much  more  amiable;  the  man  raised  his 
cap  on  his  arrival,  and  did  not  attempt  to  put  it  on  during 
the  whole  of  the  interview.  George  told  him  to  make  out 
his  receipts  by  the  next  day,  and  asked  if  anything  had 
come  for  bim  during  his  absence.  The  porter  answered 
that  no  letters  had  arrived,  but  that  two  ladies  had  called, 
who  had  not  left  their  names  ;  they  were  both  dark,  one 
was  tall,  and  the  other  of  medium  height.  The  shorter 
of  the  two  had  only  called  once,  but  Qie  latter  one  had 
been  every  day. 

The  medium-sized  lady  was  certainly  Cehle  ;  but  who 
could  the  other  one  be  ?  However,  this  was  a  matter  upon 
which  George  felt  no  curiosity,  for  he  had  many  lady 
friends,  and  there  was  nothing  surprising  in  one  of  them 
having  called  on  him.  Of  one  thing  he  was  sure,  that  it 
was  not  Juliet  Taupier,  for  she  was  as  fair  as  the  lily,  and 
did  not  correspond  with  either  of  the  descriptions  that  he 
had  received. 

On  the  morning  of  his  departure  he  had  received  from 
Cecile  the  note  of  hand  as  arranged,  with  one  line  ; 
"  Thank  you  ;  I  hope  to  see  you  again."  It  was  evident, 
however,  that  she  had  called,  and  this  made  George  all 
the  more  anxious  to  see  her.  Having  learned  all  that 
he  wished,  he  left  the  porter,  in  order  to  look  for  a  cab 
to  take  him  to  the  Avenue  de  Laumiere,  where  Cecile  re- 
sided, and  whilst  doing  so  he  found  himself  in  the  midst 
of  the  booths  and  tents  that  had  been  erected  by  the 
exhibitors  at  the  fair.  But  few  of  the  shows  opened 
before  the  close  of  the  day,  and  at  this  time  the  place  was 
almost  deserted.  Here  and  there  a  few  boys  belonging 
to  the  neighborhood  were  playing  at  hide-and-seek 
behind  the  booths  and  stalls ;  venders  of  fancy  goods  were 
arranging  their  stock  to  the  best  advantage  ;  a  rope- 
dancer,  muffled  up  in  an  old  shawl,  was  seated  on  a  stool 
mending  her  fleshings,  and  an  acrobat  whose  trunks  were 
but  half  concealed  by  a  threadbare  greatcoat,  was  return- 
ing from  market  with  a  basket  in  his  hand.  It  was 
the  hour  when  the  performers,  who  a  little  later  on  were 
looked  on  as  superior  beings  by  an  admiring  audience,  be- 
came, for  the  time,  simple  mortals,  and  were  ready  enough 
to  accept  a  drink  at  the  nearest  wine-shop.  Cransac  had 
often  gazed  on  this  scene  before,  and  did  not  pay  much 


54  THE  felon's  bequest. 

attention  to  it;  but  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  figure  of  a 
man  in  a  jacket,  seated  on  the  shaft  of  a  cart,  smoking  a 
pipe,  whose  face  he  thought  he  recognized.  The  man 
was  of  powerful  build  with  an  unprepossessing  face,  a 
nose  hke  a  vulture's  beak, and  a  huge,  hpless  mouth.  The 
cart,  upon  the  shafts  of  which  he  was  seated,  resembled  a 
Noah's  ark;  it  was  of  large  size,  with  several  narrow 
windows,  and  had  more  than  one  tin  chimney,  from  which 
issued  volumes  of  smoke  and  a  strong  odor  of  cooking. 
It  was  what  the  moimtebanks  term  a  li\ing  wagon — a 
kind  of  movable  house — in  which  they  reside  and  travel 
about.  A  subdued  roar  made  George  glance  in  the 
direction  from  which  the  soxind  came,  and  he  saw  a  huge 
circular  tent,  ornamented  with  a  painting  representing 
Cornelian,  in  beast-tamer's  costume,  siu'rounded  by  all 
the  savage  animals  of  the  known  world.  George  had 
completely  forgotten  all  about  her  and  the  ridiculous 
episode  of  the  whip  flung  at  him  through  the  bars  of  the 
lion's  cage;  but  he  recognized  in  the  smoke  the  man  who, 
pike  in  hand  walked  backwards  and  forwards  in  front 
of  the  dens,  and  he  remembered  that  he  had  kept  back 
the  beasts  with  his  pike  when  Cornelian  had  thrown  away 
her  whip. 

As  the  fellow  continued  to  stare  at  him,  George,  who 
had  no  desire  to  have  anything  to  say  to  a  person  of  his 
kind,  was  proceeding  on  his  way,  when  the  face  of  Cor- 
nelian appeared  at  one  of  the  windows  of  the  living  wagon. 
She  oni}''  looked  out  for  an  instant,  but  in  that 
brief  time  she  recognized  George,  and  a  moment  after- 
wards she  appeared  at  the  door.  She  slowly  descended 
the  four  or  five  steps  of  the  movable  ladder,  then  going 
up  to  the  man  who  was  seated  smoking  on  the  shaft  she 
shook  him  roughly  by  the  shoulder,  exclaiming : 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  you  brute  ?  Don't  you 
hear  the  beasts  crying  for  their  food?  Run  and  give 
them  their  meat,  and  be  sharp;  I  don't  want  to  be  eaten 
to-night." 

And  as  the  feeder  of  the  animals  appeared  to  hesitate, 
she  repeated: 

"  Quick !     Clear  out  of  this." 

He  obeyed  her  with  a  growl  like  that  of  a  savage  dog, 
who  is  kicked  out  of  the  way;  but  before  leaving  he  cast 
an  angry  glance  at  George — the  look  of  a  servant  who 


THE  felon's  bequest.  65 

loves  liis  mistress  and  is  jealous  of  lier.  George  was 
rooted  to  the  si^ot  with  astonishment,  and  on  looking 
again  at  the  girl  decided  that  she  was  even  better  look- 
ing than  she  had  appeared  in  her  fleshings  in  the  Hon's 
den. 

As  a  general  rule,  women  of  her  profession  only  look 
well  during  their  performances,  and  their  every  day 
dress  does  not  suit  them  at  all.  But  Cornelian,  in  her 
black  satin  dress,  a  black  mantilla  over  her  shoulders, 
her  raven  hair  confined  in  a  silken  net,  and  a  fan  in  her 
hand,  entirely  resembled  a  Spanish  lady  about  to  take  a 
walk  on  the  Prado,  a  veritable  Marquesa  d'Amaegue,  the 
beautiful  Andalusian  of  Alfred  de  Musset's  song. 

George  saw  at  once  that  she  was  about  to  come  up  and 
speak  to  him,  and  as  he  had  no  chance  of  avoiding  her, 
he  awaited  her  coming  firmly. 

"  At  last  you  have  come,"  said  she  with  a  smile.  "  That 
is  all  right.     I  was  going  to  your  house." 

"  You  were  going  to  my  house  ? "  cried  George,  in 
surprise. 

"  Yes,  my  dear;  No.  19,  Bue  Frocnot,  quite  close  to 
this.  I  have  been  there  every  day  since  the  first  time  I 
saw  you.     When  did  you  return  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  just  arrived.  How  did  you  find  out  my 
address?" 

"  From  Juliet  Taupier." 

"  "What,  do  you  know  her  ?" 

"  A  httle;  but  I  know  a  good  deal  of  the  chap  that  was 
with  her,  and  whose  head  you  punched.  I  shan't  forget 
that  slap  in  a  hurry.  I  liked  you  when  I  was  at  work  with 
my  pupils,  but  that  blow  of  yours  fetched  me  at  once.  I'm 
the  sort  of  girl  that  likes  to  see  one  man  hit  another. 
Arthur  took  it  quietly,  did  he  not  ?  " 

"  Arthur  ?  "  repeated  George,  interrogatively. 

"  Yes ;  the  fair  dandy  who  relieved  you  of  your  Juliet. 
I  knew  that  he  wouldn't  fight.  I  think  he  is  fond  of  col- 
lecting slaps  in  the  eye.  He  had  two  given  him  when  he 
was  with  me.  Just  fancy  my  having  been  spoons  on  him 
because  he  had  a  fine  moustache.  He  is  as  ugly  as  an  ape 
now  that  he  has  cut  it  off." 

"  Then  he  was  your  lover  ?  " 

"  Only  for  a  short  time.  He  fetched  me  a  bit  last  sum- 
mer at  the  fair  of  Saint  Cloud;  it  lasted  just  a  month.    But 


56  THE  felon's  bequest. 

what  of  tkat  ?  After  you  had  gone,  I  gave  him  his  march- 
ing orders.  I  told  him  that  he  wasn't  worth  much,  and  that 
his  girl  would  not  make  anything  of  him.  That  Juliet  was 
with  you,  was  she  not  ?  Oh,  don't  say  no ;  she  proclaimed 
it  loudly  enough.  But  that  is  all  over  now,  for  after  the 
affi'ont  she  put  on  you,  I  don't  suppose  you'll  put  your 
head  inside  her  door." 

Overwhelmed  by  this  flood  of  endearment,  George  held 
his  peace,  although  he  felt  much  tempted  to  make  inquir- 
ies regarding  the  rascal  who  he  had  publicly  corrected, 
and  who  had  not  ventured  to  resent  his  having  done  so. 
Cornelian,  however,  left  him  no  leisure  to  recover  from  his 
surprise. 

"  So  now,  my  little  George,  you  are  free.  I  have  got 
hold  of  you,  and  I  mean  to  keep  you.  You  are  the  hand-- 
somest  fellow  that  I  have  ever  seen,  and  we  shall  suit  each 
other  down  to  the  ground.  Don't  you  imagine  that  I  cai-e 
a  bit  what  that  jade  said  about  your  having  been  in  Mazas 
over  some  bit  of  rascality.  Well,  suppose  you  have,  you 
suit  me  just  as  well.  "Why,  anyone  may  be  quodded  in 
Mazas." 

George  turned  pale  with  the  anger  that  was  rapidly 
gaining  an  ascendancy  over  him. 

"  And  besides,"  continued  the  girl,  "  it  is  love  at  first 
sight.  I  make  more  money  than  I  want,  and  will  never 
take  a  sou  from  you,  even  if  you  were  as  rich  as  Eoths- 
child.  I  shan't,  of  course,  object  to  your  paying  for  a 
supper,  but  that  won't  cost  you  much,  for  I  don't  go  in 
for  swell  eating  cribs.  Will  you  come  for  me  after  the 
show  ?  "  added  Cornelian,  placing  her  hand  on  George's 
arm,  and  devouring  him  with  her  eyes  as  she  spoke.  This 
was  rather  too  much.  Disgusted,  furious,  and  irritated, 
George  wrenched  himself  roughly  away,  and  said,  coldly: 

"  You  are  making  a  mistake.  I  am  not  to  be  got  hold 
of  quite  so  easily  as  you  seem  to  fancy.  I  don't  know  you, 
and  I  don't  want  to." 

It  was  now  Cornelian's  turn  to  grow  pale  with  anger, 
and  her  eyes  blazed  with  passion.  "  Why,  you  can't  have 
looked  at  me,"  cried  she,  drawing  herself  up,  so  as  to  dis- 
play all  the  grace  of  her  figure.  "  You  won't  find  a  girl 
like  me  in  a  hurry,  I  can  tell  you ;  certainly  not  amongst 
the  lot  from  which  you  picked  out  your  Juliet.  I  am  twenty 
years  of  age,  my  dear,  and  during  the  last  five,  in  which  I 


THE  felon's  bequest.  57 

have  risked  my  body  and  bones  every  night  amongst  the 
lions,  I  have  refused  the  offers  of  princes  and  men  worth 
millions.  If  I  chose  I  need  not  go  about  from  fair  to  fail", 
for  I  have  been  offered  an  engagement  at  the  Porte  Saint 
Martin  Theatre,  in  a  piece  which  they  were  going  to  get 
up  expressly  for  me ;  I  was  to  play  the  part  of  a  martyr 
exposed  to  the  beasts  in  the  arena  of  Rome.  What  a  sen- 
sation it  would  create  1  Why,  all  Paris  would  ring  with  it. 
Well,  I  just  refused  the  offer,  because  I  felt  sure  that  I 
should  see  you  here  again,  and  was  afraid  of  missing  you. 
For  the  last  ten  days  I  have  done  nothing  but  run  after 
you." 

"Well,  I  couldn't  help  that,  for  I  was  travelling;  but  if 
I  had  known " 

"  Now,  just  listen,  and  remember  all  I  am  going  to  tell 
you.  My  beasts  obey  me  like  dogs,  and  no  one  has  ever 
yet  resisted  me,  neither  man  nor  woman.  You  will  not 
do  so,  more  than  the  others.  Do  you  understand  ?  I 
have  taken  a  fancy  to  you,  and  mean  to  have  you." 

"  This  is  too  much,"  muttered  George  between  his 
teeth. 

"  Too  much  is  it;  I'll  tell  you  more.  You  were  right 
just  now  in  saying  that  you  did  not  know  me;  if  you 
did  you  would  also  know  that  nothing  could  stop  me. 
My  will  is  law,  as  you  will  find.  I  will  kill  you,  sooner 
than  give  you  up;  and  if  any  woman  interferes  between 
us,  I  will  strangle  her  with  my  own  hands,  with  these 
very  hands  with  which  I  flog  the  lions."  As  she  spoke 
she  stretched  them  out  before  him,  a  thought  too  large, 
perhaps,  and  a  little  sunburnt,  but  with  weU-shaped  long 
fingers,  terminating  in  carefully-kept  nails.  She  looked 
quite  capable  of  ridding  herself  of  a  rival. 

George  began  to  think  this  scene  was  more  amusing 
than  alarming.  He  had  pleased  many  women,  but  this  was 
the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  had  to  defend  himself 
against  the  direct  advances  of  one  of  the  sex;  but,  as  he 
was  resolved  not  to  jield,  he  did  not  trouble  himself 
much  with  Cornelian's  threats,  for  he  knew  that  she  could 
not  carry  him  off  by  force,  and  as  he  had  no  mistress 
there  was  no  reason  to  fear  for  her, 

"  Look  there,"  continued  she,  pointing  out  the  feeder 
of  the  beasts,  who  at  that  moment  came  out  of  the  tent 
after  having  given  the  animals  their  meal.     "  Well,  if  I 


58  THE  FELON  S  BEQUEST. 

told  that  man  to  go  into  the  cage  with  my  two  big  lions, 
after  they  had  had  nothing  to  eat  for  three  days,  he 
would  not  hesitate  a  moment  in  obeying  me,  although 
he  knew  perfectly  that  they  would  only  make  a  mouthful 
of  him,  he  is  so  madly  in  love  with  me." 

"  A  hopeless  love,  I  suppose,"  thought  George. 

"  Do  you  doubt,"  continued  the  girl,  "  that  he  would 
think  twice  if  I  told  him  to  kill  anyone  whom  I  might 
point  out;  some  one  who  had  insulted  me,  or  some  lover 
who  had  deceived  me  ?  " 

George  could  hardly  restrain  a  shudder,  for  now  there 
was  some  tangible  danger  to  dread. 

The  adorer  of  Cornelian  looked  like  a  sworn  tormentor 
of  the  middle  ages,  or  a  robber  whom  it  would  be  advis- 
able not  to  meet  at  night  in  a  lonely  spot. 

"  I  shall  take  care  not  to  go  out  for  the  future  without 
my  revolver,"  thought  George. 

"  Remember,  you  have  been  warned.  At  any  rate,  I 
am  spared  another  visit  to  the  Rue  Frochot;  and  now, 
my  dear,  I  will  detain  you  no  longer.  I  have  a  show  to- 
day at  four  o'clock,  and  another  this  evening  at  ten;  but 
I  had  rather  that  you  would  not  come,  for  you  might 
distract  my  attention,  and  that  won't  do  in  my  business. 
The  other  evening,  when  I  threw  my  whip  at  you,  Frede- 
gonde,  my  lioness,  almost  had  me;  but  after  it  is  over 
you  shall  take  me  to  supper.  So  if  you  don't  wait  for 
me,  between  eleven  and  twelve,  over  there  at  the  Cafe  du 
Rat  Mort,  look  out  for  yourself,  my  little  man,  for  it  will 
be  war  between  us,  and  you  will  have  to  pay  for  all 
breakages."  Then,  as  she  saw  the  man  in  the  jacket 
creeping  up  slyly,  she  exclaimed:  "Get  to  kennel,  watch- 
dog;" and  as  he  seemed  inclined  to  disobey  her,  she 
drove  him  with  blows  and  thrusts  in  the  back  to  the  side 
entrance  of  the  menagerie,  whilst  George  profited  by 
this  movement  to  make  his  escape  by  darting  between 
some  of  the  booths. 


THE  felon's  bequest.  69 

CHAPTER  IX. 

poverty's  banker. 

He  had  reached  the  Place  Pigalle,  where  he  hoped  to 
find  a  cab,  when  some  distance  off  he  saw  a  woman  whose 
figure  reminded  him  of  Cecile  Cambremer.  She  had 
come  out  of  the  Rue  Frochot,  and  was  going  along  the 
Rue  Duperre.  Cransac  thought  that  she  had  been  to  his 
house  to  make  inquiries  regarding  him,  but  he  wondered 
where  she  could  be  going,  for  she  was  not  returning  to 
the  Avenue  Laumiere  in  which  she  resided,  which  would 
spare  him  a  journey  to  Belleville.  He  resolved  to  follow 
her  on  the  chance,  and  see  if  she  went  in  anywhere.  This 
portion  of  the  town  is  full  of  artists,  and  ladies  are  very 
fond  of  them;  she  might  even  have  a  lover  amongst 
them,  and  George  wanted  to  find  out  if  this  was  the 
case.  He  must  have  been  in  love,  for  he  felt  a  pang  of 
jealousy,  and  his  love  had  sprang  up  without  his  knowl- 
edge, for  he  was  hardly  conscious  of  the  nature  of  his 
feeling  for  Cecile.  He  followed  her  like  a  shadow,  as 
detectives  follow  those  whom  they  are  ordered  to  watch, 
but  not  arrest,  permitting  her  to  keep  some  fifteen  paces 
ahead.  If  it  was  Cecile,  she  certainly  had  not  squan- 
dered any  of  the  money  that  he  had  advanced  her  on 
dress,  for  she  wore  the  same  hat  and  skirt  as  when  he  had 
first  found  her  gasping  on  the  floor  by  the  side  of  the 
brazier  of  charcoal.  Her  health  did  not  seem  to  have 
suffered  from  her  recent  attempt  at  suicide ;  she  walked 
firmly,  like  a  woman  who  knows  where  she  is  going,  and 
is  in  a  hurry  to  get  there.  She  looked  really  charming, 
and  as  George  followed  her  with  admiring  eyes,  he  never 
thought  of  looking  behind  him;  had  he  done  so  he  would 
have  noticed  the  keeper  from  the  managerie  following 
him  with  the  stealthy  gait  of  a  fox  tracking  his  prey. 
The  fellow  must  have  managed  to  escape  from  the  booth 
into  which  Cornelian  had  thrust  him — escaped,  perhaps, 
to  pick  a  quarrel  with  the  gentleman  whom  he  looked 
upon  as  his  rival;  unless,  indeed,  he  had  been  dispatched 
by  his  mistress  to  dog  the  footsteps  of  the  handsome 


60  THE  felon's  bequest. 

young  man  whom  she  was  desirous  of  securing  for  her- 
self. The  Rue  Duperre  is  not  a  very  long  street,  and  the 
gii'l  soon  turned  off  to  the  right.  "  This  is  strange," 
thought  George;  "  why  here  she  is  going  down  the  street 
where  Valbrec  lives;  surely,  she  is  not  going  to  see  him — 
and  yet,  why  not  ?  Paul  is  a  deuce  of  a  fellow,  and 
knows  all  the  women  in  Paris;  but  no,  just  now  he  is  at 
the  office  writing  his  article,  and  my  idea  is  an  absiird 
one."  He,  however,  pushed  on,  fearing  lest  he  should 
lose  sight  of  the  woman  who  was  such  a  puzzle  to  him, 
and  as  he  turned  the  comer  of  the  Kue  Fromentin,  he  saw 
her  disappear  in  one  of  the  first  houses  in  the  street.  The 
door  through  which  she  had  passed  was  not  a  private 
gateway,  for  it  had  only  to  be  pushed  to  open.  George 
Cransac  knew  well  that  swing  door,  which  opens  and 
shuts  without  noise,  and  which  was  surmounted  by  a 
lamp,  upon  which  were  painted  these  words,  "Pawn- 
broking  Establishment,  Office  Z."  He  had  in  his  time 
been  inside  the  place,  where  persons  of  social  ranks  meet 
and  mix,  and  those  who  are  in  easy  circumstances  are  not 
the  least  constant  frequenters  of  it,  for  a  pawnbrokers 
establishment  is  more  obliging  than  a  ftiend  and  never 
alludes  again  to  the  obligation  that  has  been  conferred. 
Contrary  to  the  general  opinion,  the  very  poor  are 
not  those  who  have  the  most  frequent  recourse  to  it,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  in  order  to  borrow  you  must  have 
something  to  pledge.  The  habitual  frequenters  are 
petty  tradesmen,  gay  women  of  all  classes,  fast  men,  and 
gamblers.  In  these  estabhshments,  which  have  been 
greatly  multiplied,  the  customers  vary  according  to  the 
quai'ter  of  the  town  in  which  it  has  been  opened,  and  as 
the  office  in  the  Rue  Fromentin  is  not  far  from  the  Rue 
Breda,  or  the  Place  Pigalle,  it  is  much  frequented  by 
actresses,  and  women  of  the  middle  circles  of  the  world 
of  gallantry.  Cransac  had  in  former  times  pledged  his 
watch  in  order  to  furnish  him  with  funds  to  go  on  the 
spree  with,  but  of  recent  years  his  commission  on  Stock 
Exchange  transactions  had  furnished  him  sufficient  funds 
to  lead  a  merry  life,  so  he  had  almost  forgotten  the  road 
to  the  "  poj)  shop,"  and  he  was  much  surprised  at  seeing 
the  woman  he  was  following  go  in  there.  "  The  deuce," 
muttered  he,  between  his  teeth,  "if  that  woman  is  my 
debtor  my  thousand  francs  have  not  gone  very  far,  since 


THE  felon's  bequest.  61 

ten  days  after  she  tas  received  them  slie  nas  to  pay  a 
visit  to  '  her  uncle.'  This  hardly  coincides  with  her  busi- 
ness-like idea  of  starting  an  artificial  florist's  shop,  which 
she  told  me  of  at  the  cafe  in  the  Boulevard  Rochech- 
ouart."  Then  he  began  to  wonder  if  this  joung  girl,  with 
the  face  of  a  poetess,  whom  he  had  saved  from  death,  and 
destituti(>n,  was  not,  after  all,  a  mere  adventuress,  who 
had  invented  a  tale  to  extract  money  from  him.  But,  on 
reflection,  he  made  up  his  mind  that  this  woman  who 
had  gone  into  the  pawn  office  was  not  Cecile,  and  that  he 
had  lost  his  time  in  following  some  one  utterly  unknown 
to  him. 

But  in  order  to  set  all  his  doubts  at  rest,  he  went  in 
after  her.  The  girl  had  gone  straight  into  the  public 
room  instead  of  going  in  by  the  little  door,  upon  which 
was  painted  in  black  letters,  "  Private  entrance,"  disdain- 
ing to  avail  herself  of  the  accommodation  offered  to  well- 
dressed  borrowers.  Even  in  a  pawn  office  there  are  cer- 
tain social  distinctions.  Cransac  imitated  her,  and  saw 
that  the  room  was  full. 

The  winter  months  press  heavily  on  poverty. 

The  room  was  of  large  size,  but  full  of  silence  and 
sadness.  It  seemed  like  the  entrance  to  some  hospital, 
and  no  one  felt  an  inclination  either  to  laugh  or  gossip. 
Even  the  voices  of  the  officials,  as  they  mentioned  the 
sums  that  could  be  lent,  or  the  nature  of  the  articles  re- 
deemed, hardly  seemed  to  rise  above  a  whisper.  The 
borrowers  answered  in  a  low  voice  when  the  numbers 
were  called,  and  the  shamefacedness  of  destitution  would 
have  touched  the  heart  of  any  rich  man  who  might  have 
come  in  to  look  about  him.  The  unfortunate  creatures 
pressed  forward  eager  to  get  their  business  over,  some 
carrying  small  objects  in  their  hands,  and  others  large 
bundles,  which  the  assistants  unpacked  on  the  counter. 
There  was  no  time  lost  in  spreading  out  and  valuing  the 
articles  of  clothing,  nor  indeed  in  declining  the  pledge 
when  it  was  insufficient  to  cover  the  value  of  the  loan 
demanded.  A  woman  would  then  draw  back,  her  eyes 
swimming  in  tears,  and  all  was  over. 

The  office  for  the  redemption  of  pledges  was  not  so 
crowded  as  the  other,  and  the  foi'malities  were  not  so 
tedious,  as  all  that  had  to  be  done  was  to  hand  in  the 
ticket  and  pay  the  money;    unless,   indeed,  it  had  been 


62  THE  felon's  bequest. 

paid  the  evening  before,  and  in  that  case  it  was  «ven 
more  simple  an  act.  Articles  which  are  not  given  up 
until  the  day  after  payment  were  handed  over  in  ex- 
change for  a  receipt  for  payment,  which  was  the  work  of 
a  moment.  George,  who  had  nothing  either  to  pledge 
or  to  redeem,  gazed  in  the  crowd  for  the  girl  he  had  fol- 
lowed, but  covdd  not  see  her.  Instead,  however,  he 
caught  sight  of  a  woman,  poorly  but  neatly  clad,  who 
was  arguing  with  one  of  the  officials,  who  would  not  lend 
her  more  than  five  francs  on  a  gold  wedding  ring.  She 
had  asked  fifteen,  but  this  was  so  much  above  the  mark 
that  they  had  handed  it  back  to  her,  and  she  was  leaving 
the  place  in  despair  with  her  head  hanging  on  her 
bosom.  Misfortune  is  the  parent  of  selfishness,  and  the' 
poor,  needy  creatures  aroimd  her  paid  but  little  attention 
to  her  trouble.  Scenes  of  this  kind  were  of  constant 
occurrence,  and  fresh  ones  took  place  every  day,  but 
George,  who  saw  the  tears  start  to  her  eyes,  said  to  her 
in  a  low  voice  as  she  passed  him :  "  That  is  your  mar- 
riage ring,  is  it  not  ?  " 

The  woman  seemed  surprised,  but  managed  to  stammer 
out:  "Yes,  sir;  but " 

"And  yoiu*  husband  has  deserted  you.  How  many  chil- 
dren have  you  ?  " 

"Three,"  sobbed  she;  "and  they  have  had  nothing  to 
eat  since  yesterday.  The  five  francs  they  offered  me  here 
would  give  them  bread  for  four  days,  but  what  would  hap- 
pen afterwards  ?    I  cannot  get  work " 

"  What  is  your  business  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  do  knitting  for  the  large  houses,  but  I  am 
so  poor  now,  that  they  won't  trust  me  with  the  wool,  and 
I  have  no  money  to  buy  it. 

"  I  know  some  one  who  will  give  you  work,"  returned 
George,  "  and  take  this  to  go  on  with,"  and  as  he  spoke 
he  handed  her  a  louis. 

"  I  was  not  begging,"  faltered  she. 

"  Nor  am  I  giving  you  alms.  Ton  can  return  me  the 
money  from  your  earnings." 

"  If  I  were  only  sure  of  earning  something " 

"  I  know  a  young  lady  who  wants  workwomen  to  make 
artificial  flowers." 

"  But,  sir,  I  don't  know  how  to  make  them." 

*'  She  will  teach  you.  ^Go  to  her  from  me,  George  Cran- 


THE  felon's  bequest.  63 

sac.  Her  name  is  Mdlle.  Cambremer,  and  she  lives  at  22 
Avenue  Laumiere." 

The  idea  of  sending  this  unhappy  creature  to  Cecile 
had  suddenly  entered  George's  head,  as  a  means  of  satis- 
fying himseli  that  the  girl  had  spoken  the  truth  respect- 
ing her  workshop,  which  she  was  going  to  start  again 
with  the  thousand  francs  which  he  had  given  her,  and  he 
was  at  the  same  time  doing  another  good  action,  much 
more  disinterested  than  the  first  one,  for  the  poor  crea- 
ture who  he  had  just  assisted  was  neither  young  nor 
pretty.  He  received  his  reward  much  sooner  than  he 
had  expected,  and  in  an  equally  unlooked  for  manner. 
She  thanked  him  with  such  enthusiasm  that  he  had  to 
raise  his  voice  to  beg  her  to  moderate  her  expressions  of 
gratitude,  and  his  accents  were  recognized  by  a  girl  who 
was  standing  near  the  coimter  at  which  pledges  are 
redeemed.  She  turned  to  look  at  him.  It  was  Cecile.  A 
Advid  blush  spread  over  her  face  as  she  recognized  him, 
and  she  made  a  sign  to  him  to  wait  for  her  until  she  had 
finished  her  business.  George  hastily  disembarrassed 
himself  of  the  women  to  whom  he  had  shone  so  much 
kindness,  and  then  quietly  made  his  way  to  the  passage 
outside  the  door.  H«  was  delighted  to  find  that  she  had 
come  to  redeem  and  not  to  pledge;  as  he  perceived  when 
she  approached  him  holding  a  little  card  board  box  in  her 
hand.  But  this  corridor  was  not  a  suitable  place  for  an 
interview,  and  however  pleased  she  might  have  felt  at  see- 
ing him,  and  pleased  she  most  certainly  was,  the  place  was 
to  public  to  permit  of  her  indulging  in  any  open  demon- 
strations. "  I  am  so  happy  to  see  you,"  said  she  at  length, 
"  but  I  did  not  expect  to  find  you  here." 

"  I  followed  you  from  the  Place  Pigalle,"  answered 
George. 

"  I  had  just  come  from  your  house." 

"  I  guessed  as  much,  for  I  felt  that  it  was  you  who  had 
called  yesterday. 

"  Yes,  it  was  I.  I  came  here  to  redeem  a  pair  of  ear- 
rings that  my  father  had  given  me  a  month  before  his 
death,  and  which  I  had  been  obliged  to  pledge,  and  as 
your  house  was  close  by,  I  called  and  learnt  from  the 
porter  that  you  had  returned." 

"  And  I  was  on  my  way  to  your  house  when  I  saw  you 
a  long  way  off." 


64  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  You  were  coming  to  see  me  !  You  had  not  forgotten 
me  then  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  ceased  to  think  of  you;  and  since  chance 
has  brought  us  together  again,  I  hope  that  wou  will  per- 
mit me  to  spend  the  day  with  you.  We  have  so  much  to 
say  to  each  other." 

"  Oh !  yes;  but  I  must  first  go  back  to  Belleville.  I 
have  an  order  to  get,  and  there  is  some  work  that  I 
expect  home." 

"  May  I  go  to  Belleville  with  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,     How  shall  we  go — by  tram  ?  " 

"  If  you  like;  but  why  not  have  a  cab  ?  " 

"Because  I  have  no  money  to  throw  away  in  cabs. 
You  paid  for  me  once,  and  that  is  enough;  and  if  we  are 
to  meet  often,  we  must  place  matters  on  a  proper  footing. 
I  shall  be  ever  so  much  more  pleased  when  I  have  paid 
off  my  debt  to  you,"  added  CecUe,  casting  down  her 
eyes. 

"  Oh  1  do  not  speak  of  that  as  if  I  were  some  trades- 
man who  had  given  you  credit.  Do  you  only  think  of 
me  as  a  creditor  ?  " 

"  You  are  my  best,  or  rather  my  only  friend,  and  it  is 
for  that  reason  that  I  want  money  matters  to  be  put  on  a 
proper  footing  between  us.  Suppose  I  were  to  tell  you 
that  since  our  first  meeting  I  had  made  all  sorts  of  pro- 
jects, and  had  indulged  in  dreams  which  doubtless  wiU 
never  be  realized  ?  " 

"  TeU  me  what  they  were." 

"  No,  not  in  this  passage.  I  wUl  tell  you  them  at  my 
own  house,  if  you  care  to  climb  up  five  flights  of  stairs." 

"  I  will  climb  up  ten  if  you  wish." 

"  Well  then,  let  us  go,"  cried  the  girl  merrily. 

They  left  the  office  together,  and  in  the  most  innocent 
manner  Cecile  accepted  George's  arm,  and  were  just  in 
time  to  catch  a  tram  in  which  there  were  two  vacant 
places.  There  is  not  much  comfort  in  talking  in  a  pubHc 
conveyance,  where  your  neighbors  can  hear  every  word 
you  say,  but  George  made  up  for  this  by  admiring  at  his 
ease  CecUe's  charming  features.  She  pleased  Lim  even 
more  than  she  had  done  on  the  night  on  which  he  had  come 
to  her  aid.  The  character  of  her  beauty  had  changed, 
and  she  had  acquired  a  more  life-hke  and  mobile  expres- 
sion.    It  seemed  as  if  the  statue  had  been  warmed  into 


THE  felon's  bequest.  65 

life.  Cecile  seemed  ready  enough  to  talk,  and  during 
their  ride,  as  they  were  unable  to  talk  of  their  private 
affairs,  she  questioned  her  companion  as  to  the  poor 
woman  whom  he  had  assisted  at  the  pawn  office.  "  Do 
not  laugh,"  said  she,  with  a  smile.  "  There  is  no  neces- 
sity for  hidiug  a  good  deed;  I  saw  you  slip  something 
into  her  hand."  And  then,  when  she  learned  that  Cran- 
sac  had  even  without  asking  her  given  the  poor  creature 
her  address,  she  thanked  him  warmly.  "  I  will  find  her 
some  work,"  added  she;  for  she  now  guessed  that  George's 
idea  in  sending  the  poor  woman  to  her  was  to  make  sure 
that  she  had  really  gone  into  business  as  she  had  prom- 
ised she  would. 


CHAPTER   X 

PLAITS  FOB   THE   rUTURE. 

They  got  out  of  the  train  at  La  Vallette,  and  still  arm 
in  arm  walked  down  the  Rue  d'Allemagne.  George  knew 
very  little  of  this  part  of  town,  in  which  stockbrokers  are 
not  likely  to  number  many  clients,  but  he  permitted  him- 
self to  be  led  on,  only  too  happy  to  feel  the  young  girl's 
heart  beating  against  his  arm.  "  We  are  getting  near 
our  destination,"  said  she.  "  You  are  a  long  way  now 
from  the  Rue  Frochot,  but  you  will  not  regret  having 
taken  all  this  trouble  when  I  show  you  the  pretty  view  that 
I  have  fi'om  my  windows."  A  few  moments  afterwards 
as  they  reached  the  comer  of  the  Avenue  Laiuniere, 
Cecile,  who  had  an  eye  for  everything,  remarked  :  "  Have 
you  noticed  that  horrible  looking  man  walking  behind 
us  ?  It  reaUy  seems  as  if  he  were  following  us."  Cransac 
turned  quickly  rovind,  and  instantly  recognized  the  keeper 
of  the  menagerie,  the  uuscrupulous  tool  and  instrument 
of  Cornelian.  George  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes  in 
recognizing  at  Belleville  the  ruffian  that  he  had  left  behind 
amongst  the  booths  in  the  Boulevard  de  Clichy.  He  had 
never  noticed  the  tellow  following  him  to  the  Place 
PigaUe,  or  that  having  hidden  himself  in  a  narrow  passage 
facing  the  pawn  office,  he  had  again  taken  up  the  pursuit, 
and  climbing  on  to  the  top  of  the  tram,  had  got  down 
upon  its  anival  »t  Belleville.   This  discovery  made  Craiis^g 


66  THE  felon's  bequest. 

feel  rather  uneasy,  whilst  Cecile,  who  did  not  know  who 
the  man  was,  could  not  suspect  him  of  nourishing  any 
evil  designs  against  her.  George,  however,  now  knew 
that  he  had  another  enemy  in  the  field  ;  but  he  resisted 
the  strong  desire  he  felt  to  go  up  to  ^e  fellow  and  ask 
him  why  he  was  following  him.  And  he  was  right  for  the 
street  is  free  to  everyone,  and  Cornelian's  slave  had  as 
much  right  to  be  there  as  anyone  else,  and  to  insist  on 
his  going  in  another  direction  would  have  led  to  a  scuffle, 
in  which  he  might  probably  have  been  worsted.  A 
quarrel,  besides,  would  only  have  terrified  Cecile,  and  it 
would  be  just  as  well  for  her  to  be  left  in  ignorance  of 
George's  adventure  with  the  Lion  Queen,  and  so  he  did 
nothing  except  make  up  his  mind  that  he  would  have  an 
explanation  with  the  attendant  on  the  wild  beasts,  if  he 
again  crossed  his  path. 

"  Pooh,"  said  he,  affecting  an  air  of  perfect  ease,  "  he 
has,  I  confess,  a  sinister  look,  and  I  daresay  he  lodges  in 
the  quarries  in  the  Buttes  Chaumont,  but  these  fellows 
who  live  in  the  lime  kilns  don't  attack  people  in  broad 
daylight,  and  if  he  ventured  to  annoy  you,  here  am  I 
raedy  to  protect  you." 

"Oh!"  replied  the  girl,  ;"I  am  not  at  aU  afraid; 
besides,  here  we  are,  for  this  is  my  house."  The  h6use 
which  she  pointed  out  was  the  last  one  in  the  avenue,  and 
consequentiy  the  next  to  the  Park  of  the  Buttes  Chau- 
mont, except  the  Town  HaU  of  the  working-men's  quarter, 
and  really  offered  a  very  handsome  appearance,  with  its 
new  frontage  and  its  balconies  at  every  floor.  "You  are 
astonished  that  I  am  living  in  such  a  fine  house  ?  "  said 
Cecile,  with  a  smile  ;  "  but  it  is  to  you  that  I  am  indebted 
for  doing  so.  I  had  received  notice  because  I  had  not 
paid  up  my  rent ;  but  with  the  money  you  lent  mo  I 
saved  my  furniture,  which  was  about  to  be  sold,  and  what 
is  more,  I  re-engaged  my  workpeople,  and  have  now  siiffi- 
cient  orders  to  occupy  a  dozen  of  ttiem."  They  paused  a 
moment  before  passing  through  the  door,  and  noticed 
that  the  man  was  still  following  them  but  at  a  longer  dis- 
tance than  before.  Cecile,  who  was  quite  reassured 
regarding  him,  paid  no  more  attention,  but  George  asked 
himself  if  he  wotdd  push  his  audacity  so  far  as  to  enter 
the  house  with  them.  "  I  warned  you  that  you  would 
have  rather  a  climb/' said  shcj  as  she  began  to  e^sceftd 


THE  felon's  bequest.  67 

the  staircase  after  receiving  a  respectful  greeting  from  the 
porter,  which  was  an  excellent  sign,  for  young  ladies  who 
do  not  lead  regular  Uves  are  seldom  treated  with  respect 
by  these  delegates  of  the  landlord.  George  was  well 
aware  of  this  and  consequently  his  confidence  in  Cecile 
increased.  She  had  not  exaggerated  the  number  of  the 
floors  ;  there  were  five  aU  told,  but  fortunately  the  stairs 
were  not  very  steep,  and  youth  has  good  and  active  limbs. 

George  arrived  at  their  destination  without  panting, 
and  Cecile  who  had  no  servant,  pulled  a  key  out  of  her 
pocket  and  opened  the  door  herself.  Her  lodging  was 
composed  of  four  rooms,  all  looking  into  the  street,  and 
the  one  into  which  she  first  introduced  George  covdd 
hardly  be  called  a  manufactory,  for  it  was  not  large 
enough  for  workpeople,  but  rather  the  private  workroom 
of  an  artificial  florist,  the  wall  covered  with  a  grey  paper, 
two  straw-bottomed  chairs,  and  a  large  table  covered 
with  all  kinds  of  small  objects,  the  use  of  which  George 
was  at  a  loss  to  understand.  There  was  also  a  small 
brazier  full  of  burning  charcoal,  some  utensils  containing 
pastes  of  different  colors,  a  gum  bottle  and  brush,  packets 
of  brass  wire,  fragments  of  straw-colored  silk,  scissors,  a 
golfering  iron,  snippings  of  cambric,  and  a  large  box  full 
of  moss  roses,  ready  to  be  sent  out.  As  George  cast  an 
admiring  glance  at  these  last,  Cecile  remarked:  "  These 
are  my  making.     I  did  them  this  morning." 

"  "Will  you  give  me  one  of  them  ?" 

"  Not  one  of  those.  I  will  make  one  especially  for  you; 
look  at  me  at  work." 

"  These  are  the  stamens,"  said  she,  cutting  off  small  ends 
of  silk,  which  she  fixed  at  the  ends  of  the  brass  wires;  "  I 
dip  them,  as  you  see,  in  the  gum  to  make  them  stiff,  and 
then  I  dry  them  before  the  fire.  There,  now  that  they 
are  dry,  I  moisten  the  tips  with  some  of  this  paste,  which 
is  made  of  gum  arabic  and  wheat  flour,  and  then  plunge 
it  into  this  yellow  tinsel.  See,  each  little  tip  has  picked 
up  a  grain  of  tinsel,  and  the  heart  of  my  rose  is  completed. 
The  rose  already  begins  to  assume  a  shape." 

"  Yes;  a  butterfly  could  perch  upon  it." 

"  Oh  !  no,  butterflies  know  better  than  that.  Now  for 
the  leaves  of  the  calyx;  I  had  them  already  cut  out  of  a 
piece  of  green  starched  taffeta.  There  is  nothing  mor^ 
\,o  be  dgue  but  to  put  them  together." 


68  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  know  why  people  take  the 
trouble  to  grow  roses,"  answered  George,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  they  did  not  I  make  artifi- 
cial flowers,  but  I  love  real  ones.  Shall  this  one  have 
buds  ?  No,  it  would  take  too  long.  I  have  to  sew  up 
the  kid  after  having  filled  it  with  gummed  cotton  wool; 
and  now  see,  in  order  to  finish  it,  I  cover  the  wire  that 
forms  the  stem  with  thread,  and  roll  round  it  green  ribbon 
paper.  That  is  all;  my  rose  is  finished,  and  I  offer  it  to 
you." 

George  took  it,  and  kissed  it. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  put  it  in  your  button- 
hole. An  artificial  flower  there  would  be  quite  too 
funny." 

"  I  will  place  it  on  my  heart,"  replied  he,  putting  it  in 
his  pocket-book,  which  was  fiUed  with  the  bank-notes 
that  he  had  brought  from  London.  Cecile  blushed,  but 
she  hesitated  to  reply  to  this  indirect  declaration. 
"Come,"  said  she  after  a  pause,  "  and  see  the  rest  of  my 
apartments;  after  that  I  will  show  you  the  view  from  my 
balcony,  for  I  have  a  fine  balcony." 

"  I  am  poor,  and  you  are  rich." 

"Not  so  rich  as  you  fancy." 

"  If  you  were  not,  how  could  you  have  lent  me  a  thous- 
and francs,  when  you  knew  nothing  of  me  ?  " 

"  A  man  may  have  such  a  siim  at  his  command  and  yet 
not  have  a  large  fortune.  I  gain  money  by  my  labor,  the 
same  as  you  do." 

"  Forgive  me  asking,  but  what  is  your  business  ?  " 

"I  was  an  outside  operator  on  the  stock  exchange;  now 
I  am  a  pressman,  or  at  least  I  am  going  to  be  one." 

"  A  iDressman  !  "  repeated  Cecile,  sadly. 

"  Yes.     Do  you  not  Hke  the  idea  ?  " 

"Not  much,  for  a  literary  man  has,  I  believe,  to  Uve  in  a 
world  where  the  charms  of  domestic  happiness  are  but 
little  appreciated." 

"  No,  no,  there  is  no  necessity  for  that.  Some  hterary 
men  certainly  lead  a  very  irregular  life,  but  I  declare  to 
you  that  I  have  no  fancy  for  a  Bohemian  existence." 

"  Have  you  already  tried  it  then  ?  "  asked  Cecile,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Too  much  perhaps.  I  don't  want  to  make  myself  out 
better  than  I  sm-    Zou  have  spoken  openly  to  me,  and 


THE  felon's  bequest.  69 

so  I  will  confess  that  I  have  been  wild,  and  have  often 
squandered  my  money.  But  can  you  wonder  ?  I  was  young, 
and  had  not  found  a  woman  that  I  loved." 

"  Young !  But  what  are  you  now  ?  " 

"  But  now  that  I  have  found  one  to  lead  me  in  the  right 

path,  I ."    George  hesitated  and  looked  steadily  at 

Cecile. 

"  If  I  could  only  believe  you,"  sighed  she. 

"  What  can  I  do  to  convince  you  ?  " 

"  We  must  know  each  other  better.  What  would  you 
think  of  me  if  I  at  once  told  you  that  I  loved  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  that  you  had  confidence  in  me,  as  I  had 
in  you." 

"  Thank  you  for  thinking  so  well  of  me,"  returned  Cecile, 
deeply  moved.  "  If  you  always  speak  to  me  like  that  we 
shall  one  day  be  happy  together.  You  know  hardly  any- 
thing of  my  past  life,  and  I  know  nothing  at  all  of  yours." 

"  My  past ! — oh  !    I  have  had  troubles  like  you." 

"  But  the  present,  the  future.  How  shall  we  live  for  one 
another  ?  You,  in  the  midst  of  a  whirl  of  pleasure  and 
excitement,  and  I  kept  here  by  the  necessity  of  looking 
after  my  workroom :  you  in  the  Eue  Frochot,  I  at  Belle- 
viUe." 

"  I  can  come  and  live  close  to  you,  for  I  have  already 
given  notice  to  quit  my  rooms." 

"  But  you  will  not  come  to  live  in  this  part  of  the  town; 
it  would  be  too  far  from  your  paper." 

"  We  could  meet  each  other  half-way." 

"  We  should  both  of  us  lose  the  same  amount  of  time.'" 

"  But,  after  all,  I  am  not  obliged  to  work  for  a  living." 

"Then  I  have  guessed  it:  you  are  rich." 

"And  suppose  I  was;  suppose  that  I  had  enough  for 
two?" 

"  I  could  not  share  it  with  you." 

At  this  firm  reply  Cransac  hesitated,  not  knowing  what 
to  say  or  do,  for  whilst  this  conversation  had  been  taking 
place  his  ideas  had  undergone  a  change,  and  he  felt  that 
iUgotten  money  would  not  bring  him  good  luck,  nor  even 
peace  of  mind,  for  his  conscience  would  always  reproach 
him  with  having  accepted  it,  and  that  he  would  feel  more 
at  ease  in  earning  his  daily  bread,  now  that  he  had  found 
a  woman  to  make  him  happy.  W^hy  should  not  the  career 
of  a  joumsilist,  in  which  Valbrec  had  offered  to  initiate 


70  THE  felon's  BEQTJEST. 

him,  permit  him  to  earn  an  honest  hvelihood  by  his  pen, 
instead  of  using  the  ill-omened  coin  which  had  already- 
caused  him  such  trouble,  since  he  was  compelled  to  explain 
his  change  of  circumstances  by  a  series  of  falsehoods 
which  were  most  difficult  to  sustain  ?  Would  it  not  be  a 
thousand  times  better  to  again  enter  the  right  road,  and 
withdraw  from  the  dangerous  course  in  which  he  had 
embarked  ?  All  that  he  had  to  do  was  to  invent  a  fresh 
story,  and  tell  his  friend  that  the  anonymous  bequest  had 
been  revoked,  and  to  put  back  in  its  hiding-place  the  sum 
that  he  had  already  taken  out;  and  as  for  the  amount  he 
had  spent,  he  could  repay  that  out  of  his  first  earnings. 

"  You  hesitate,"  said  Cecile.  "  "Was  I  not  right,  tiien, 
in  not  indulging  in  vain  hopes  ?  " 

"  You  are  wrong,"  replied  George;  "  I  was  only  trying 
you.  But  the  obstacle  you  refer  to  does  not  exist;  I  am 
no  richer  than  you  are,  and  there  is  nothing  to  prevent 
us  from  leading  a  similar  life.  You  have  just  said  that 
you  know  but  little  of  me.  "Well,  put  me  to  the  proof. 
You  shall  know  the  life  I  lead,  and  when  you  have  con- 
vinced yourself  that  I  am  not  rolling  in  riches,  you  will 
perhaps  let  me  speak  to  you  of  love." 

Cransac  spoke  earnestly,  but  all  at  once  he  saw  that 
Cecile  was  not  listening  to  him. 

"  There  he  is  again,"  said  she,  pressing  closely  to 
George. 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  There  in  the  street,  the  man  who  followed  us. 

Cransac  looked  down  and  recognized  the  fellow  from 
the  wild  beast  show,  whose  very  existence  he  had  for- 
gotten, but  whose  reappearance  did  not  surprise  him  at 
all. 

"  And  suppose  it  should  be  the  same  man,"  said  he. 
"Loafers  are  not  very  rare  about  here;  the  fellow  has 
come  for  a  stroll  in  the  park  here,  and  is  on  his  way 
there.     It  is  all  natural  enough." 

"  I  do  not  know  why  the  idea  should  enter  my  head, 
but  I  think  he  is  watching  us." 

"  What  a  strange  fancy !  See,  he  is  some  distance  off 
now,  and  did  not  even  raise  his  head  as  he  passed  under 
your  balcony." 

"  Never  mind,  let  us  go  in;  will  you  ?  ** 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  71 

They  re-entered  the  room,  and  Cecile  closed  the  win- 
dow. "  You  have  not  told  me  that  I  may  love  you,"  said 
George,  gently. 

"  Do  you  think  it  necessary  to  obtain  my  permission  to 
do  so  ?  "  asked  Cecile,  with  a  smile. 

"  No,  for  I  already  love  you  without  having  asked  your 
leave,"  returned  George,  briskly. 

"  I  can  beUeve  you;  for  though  I  have  not  lived  long  in 
this  world,  I  have  learned  that  love  comes  one  knows  not 
how,  and  that  we  cannot  prevent  its  spiinging  up.  Can 
a  soldier  in  the  battle-field  avoid  the  fatal  bullet  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  have  received  that  bullet,  it  has  struck  me 
full  in  the  heart,  and  I  shall  die " 

"  Unless  I  love  you  ?  You  deceive  yourself ;  such 
wounds  are  easily  cured.  I  have  got  over  mine,  and  you 
must  not  be  surprised  at  my  dreading  love.  I  have 
suffered  so  much  from  it  already." 

"  Take  me  on  triaL" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

*•  The  most  simple  thing  in  the  world.  Let  us  b©  simple* 
friends,  until  the  day  when  you  think  fit  to  let  love  come 
on  the  scene;  and  let  me  first  prove  to  you  that  I  am  not 
the  man  you  think.  To  prove  this,  I  must  see  you  every 
day.  You  will  say  that  your  business  takes  up  all  your 
time.  So  does  mine;  but  one  does  not  work  without 
cessation,  and  we  shall  each  have  some  hours  of  liberty. 
Let  us  pass  these  together." 

"I  dread  the  fire,"  murmured  Cecile;  "I  fear  to  be 
burnt  I " 

She  first  led  him  mto  the  kitchen,  which  was  also  the 
dining-room,  with  a  stove  and  its  accessories  in  one  comer, 
a  wahiut-wood  dresser,  scantily  furnished  with  glasses 
and  plates,  some  chairs  that  did  not  match,  and  a  table 
covered  with  a  piece  of  oilcloth.  "  I  eat  but  little,"  said 
she,  as  an  excuse  for  the  poverty-stricken  appearance  of 
the  siu-roun dings;  "but  it  is  because  I  have  but  a  small 
appetite,  for  now,  thanks  to  you,  I  need  deprive  myself 
of  nothing.  Let  us  now  go  into  my  sitting-room;  that  is 
a  little  more  presentable."  It  was  indeed  a  charming 
little  room,  with  four  chairs,  two  ai*mchairs,  a  clock  sup- 
ported by  a  ^figure,  and  candelabra  of  gilt  bronze.  It 
was  just  such  furniture  as  you  may  see  in  the  homes  of 
small  shopkeepers,  or  in  the  room  behind  the  shop  of  a 


72  THE  felon's  bequest. 

third-class  dressmaker,  but  brushed  and  kept  in  order 
with  the  most  scrupulous  neatness. 

"  That  is  all  that  remains  to  me  of  those  happy  days, 
when  no  one  had  disturbed  my  peaceful  existence,"  mur- 
mured Cecile.  "  Those  few  articles  of  furniture  are  what 
I  bought  with  my  earnings,  and  I  should  have  lost  them 
had  you  not  so  generously  come  to  my  aid." 

Cransac  took  good  care  not  to  say  that  they  were  hid- 
eous in  his  eyes,  but  he  resolved  to  give  her  some  others, 
for  he  already  felt  that  he  could  not  live  without  seeing 
her  very  frequently,  and  he  had  no  desire  to  come  and 
plant  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  Buttes  Chaumont. 

"  And  now  let  us  come  out  on  my  terrace,"  said  she, 
pointing  with  her  finger  to  the  window  that  opened  on  to 
her  balcony. 

"Pardon  me  mademoiselle,  but  you  have  not  yet 
shown  me  all  your  rooms;  there  is  yet — ' 

"  My  bedroom !     I  have  vowed  that  no  man  shall  entei 

"  What,  not  even  your  beat  friend,  as  you  called  me 
just  now  ? ' 

Cecile  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then,  throwing  open 
the  door,  she  permitted  him  to  go  in.  It  was  a  perfect 
school-girl's  chamber;  a  little  narrow  bed  with  white 
hangings,  a  washstand,  and  tiny  toilet  table,  a  whatnot 
full  of  little  ornaments  of  low  value,  some  books  in 
stained  pine  shelves,  and  a  side  table  in  imitation  of  Jap- 
anese W(^k,  comprised  the  whole  of  the  furniture.  Every- 
thing snowed  that  the  young  girl  led  the  strictest  and 
purest  of  lives, 

George,  however,  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  photograph  in 
a  gilt  frame  placed  on  the  side  table,  and  without  notic- 
ing the  pained  expression  that  rose  to  Cecile's  face,  he 
bent  over  to  look  at  it.  "  But  this  is  myself,"  said  he 
seizing  it  in  both  his  hands;  "my  portrait  when  I  was 
younger.     By  what  extraordinary  chance — " 

"No,  it  is  not  you."  faltered  Cecile,  in  great  distress; 
"  it  is  that  of  the  man  who  resembles  you." 

"What,  the  man  who  treated  you  so  cruelly;  the  man 
you  took  me  for  in  the  garden  of  the  house  in  the  Kue 
GabrieUe  ?  " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  him,"  returned    Cecile.     "  He   is 


THE  felon's  bequest.  73 

nothing  to  me  now,  and  I  blush  to  think  that  I  ever 
imagined  I  cared  for  him." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  believe  you;  but  what  a  strange  resem- 
blance !  Any  one  would  swear  that  it  was  I  who  had 
posed  before  the  camera  of  the  photographer." 

"  Yes,  he  was  verj'-  like  you  when  that  photograph  was, 
first  taken;  but  since  then  he  is  greatly    changed,  so 
much  so,  that  if  you  were  to  see  him  now  you  would  not 
recognize  him  from  this." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  do  so,"  answered  George  coldly; 
"  It  is  enough  for  me  to  have  found  his  photograph  in 
your  room." 

"  It  shall  remain  there  no  longer,"  murmured  Cecile. 

«  What  will  you  do  with  it  ?" 

"  I  will  destroy  it,  if  you  wish  me  to  do  so." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  ask  you  to  make  such  a  sacrifice. 
You  might  think  that  I  was  jealous." 

"  No,  for  people  are  only  jealous  when  they  lore." 

"  And  you  think  that  I  do  not  love  you.  Why  do  you 
do  so  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  I  have  gained  your  sympathy;  but  as  to 
loving  me  as  I  wish  to  be  loved,  we  are  a  long  way  from 
that" 

Greorge's  face  flushed;  he  replaced  the  portrait  on  the 
table,  took  Cecile's  hands  in  his,  and  drew  her  towards 
him.     "  How  would  you  wish  to  be  loved  ?"  asked  he. 

His  eyes  burned  with  passion,  and  Cecile  felt  that  she 
must  extinguish  the  fire  that  she  had  lighted.  "  I  will  tell 
you,"  murmured  she  calmly,  "  but  not  here."  She  loosed 
herself  from  his  grasp,  and  opening  the  window,  stepped 
out  on  to  the  balcony.  She  had  understood  the  danger 
which  threatened  her  in  that  chamber,  where  they  were 
both  alone  together,  and  where  she  felt  a  strange  inde- 
scribable feeling  stealing  over  her,  which  might  be  the 
dual  result  of  the  promptings  of  the  heart  and  the  sudden 
development  of  the  physical  feelings,  for  George  had 
pleased  her  more  than  she  even  ventured  to  confess  to 
herself.  He  followed  her  on  to  the  balcony,  the  advan- 
tages of  which  she  had  not  exaggerated,  for  it  commanded 
a  magnificent  \dew  of  all  that  portion  of  Paris,  and 
besides  was  a  safe  refuge  where  she  could  be  sure  of  not 
letting  her  senses  overpower  her.  Open  air  cools  passion, 
as  daylight  drives  away  spectres.     "  Listen  to  me,"  said 


74  THE  felon's  bequest. 

she,  as  soon  as  George  was  leaning  over  the  balcony  by 
her  side.  "I  am  no  longer  a  child,  and  I  have  no  false 
modesty;  you  know  that,  for  have  I  not  told  you  of  my 
love  for  so  unworthy  an  object  ?  My  ill-placed  love  has 
been  cruelly  punished,  but  if  I  were  to  swear  to  you  that 
for  such  a  reason  I  would  drive  away  all  love  for  the 
future,  I  should  deceive  you,  and  you  would  not  believe 
my  vow.  I  am  only  twenty-two  years  of  age,  and  I  lack 
the  courage  to  look  forward  to  a  Hfe  of  soUtude  and  lone- 
liness. But  I  feel  that  after  the  last  cruel  deception,  I 
never  could  love  a  man  until  I  knew  his  character  com- 
pletely. I  therefore  will  choose  carefully  the  man  to 
whom  I  give  my  second  love,  and  you  would  not,  I  am 
sure,  insult  me  by  suggesting  that  my  choice  should  be 
dictated  by  interested  motives." 

"  Oh !  no,  never,"  cried  George,  positively. 

"  The  man  that  I  should  love  would  only  have  to  love 
me,  and  to  be  my  equal  in  position." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  your  equal?" 

"  One  who  is  like  me  in  feelings,  birth,  and  circum- 
stances. The  man  who  first  inspired  me  with  a  feeling  of 
love  was  a  wretch  whom  I  now  despise  more  than  I  hate, 
and  that  will  show  you  that  I  shall  never  see  him  again, 
for  though  hatred  may  be  cured,  contempt  never  can. 
What  I  ardently  desire  is  one  existence  of  two  souls — not 
a  mere  worldly,  daily  life.  No,  no;  let  each  work  on  his 
own  accoimt — I  could  not  endure  a  life  of  idleness;  let 
each  one  work  for  the  means  of  living,  so  that  independ- 
ence may  be  preserved.  We  shall  unite  our  love,  our 
griefs  and  our  joys  together.  We  shall  have  but  one 
heart,  as  an  old  song  ran  which  I  used  formerly  to  know, 
but  we  shall  have  two  abodes." 

"  Those  are  precisely  my  sentiments,"  answered  George, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  dream — the  dream  of  which  1  spoke 
before,  but  which,  I  fear,  will  never  come  to  pass." 

"  It  only  depends  upon  you." 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  then  I  am  not  your  equal." 

"You  are;  fori  have  no  relations,  and  am  as  much 
alone  in  the  world  as  you  are." 

"  We  can  pass  them  in  p\iblic.  Do  you  like  the  thea- 
tre?" 

"  Very  much,  indeed." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  76 

"Well,  there  is  nothing  easier  for  me  than  to  get 
tickets  through  my  paper,  which  I  hope  that  you  will  not 
refuse;  and  as  you  cannot  go  alone " 

"  You  will  escort  me  !     Oh !  that  will  be  delightful." 

"  That  is  all  I  ask.     When  shall  we  begin  ?  " 

"Soon;  but  I  shall  require  a  few  days  to  install  myself 
in  my  new  workroom;  and  when  that  is  done,  I  shall 
have  more  liberty." 

"And  you  will  keep  your  evenings  for  me;  how  can 
I  thank  you  enough?  But,  until  then,  I  shall  see 
you " 

"When  you  like  I" 

"Where — here,  or  at  my  rooms  ?  " 

"  I  should  prefer  your  rooms.  I  want  to  prove  to  you 
that  I  have  unlimited  confidence  in  you,  and  then, 
though  you  will  call  me  childish,  I  want  to  see  how  you 
live." 

"Speak  out,  and  say  that  you  wtmt  to  see  if  I  am 
rich ! "  answered  George,  with  a  laugh.  "  But  reassure 
yourself;  my  rooms  are  not  much  larger  and  finer  than 
yours.  I  will  keep  them  until  you  tell  me  to  move,  and 
when  I  do,  it  will  be  to  come  closer  to  you ! ' 

"  Oh !  distance  is  nothing.  I  am  accustomed  to  omni- 
bus riding.  All  I  want  to  know  is,  at  what  hours  I  shall 
be  certain  to  find  you  ?  " 

"Whatever  hours  will  suit  you." 

"And  how  about  your  paper?  " 

"  I  am  not  yet  permanently  established  in  it,  and  so 
do  not  yet  know  how  my  time  wiQ  be  occupied;  but 
you  will  permit  me  to  call  to-morrow,  and  let  you 
know?" 

"  I  am  going  out  to-morrow  morning,  but  I  shall  be  in 
all  the  afternoon,  and  shall  expect  you." 

"  Then  you  agree  to  the  trial  ?  " 

"  I  do,  and  as  a  proof  of  my  sincerity,  listen.  I  prom- 
ised that  I  would  destroy  this  portrait,  but  I  feel  that  I 
have  not  the  courage.    Take  it,  and  do  so  yourself !  " 

George  took  it,  and  kissed  the  pretty  hand  that  pre- 
sented it  to  him.  He  had  not  counted  on  this  sacrifice  which 
Cecile  had  spontaneously  made,  and  he  would  certainly 
not  have  dared  to  ask  it;  but  he  thoroughly  appreciated 
the  delicacy  of  sentiment  that  had  inspired  it,  and  he 
accepted  it  as  a  happy  omen  for  the  future  of  his  love. 


76  THE  felon's  bequest. 

He  was  jealous  too  of  the  man  who  had  first  made  an 
impression  on  Cecile's  heart,  and  vowed  that  he  would, 
if  ever  he  came  across  him,  treat  him  as  he  deserved; 
and  he  had  a  sort  of  an  idea  that  this  man  who  resembled 
him  so  much  was  his  double  who  had  presented  the 
forged  check,  and,  therefore,  he  decided  to  keep  the 
portrait  with  a  view  to  making  further  inquiries.  And 
now  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  take  his  leave,  for  it 
wovdd  have  been  ill-advised  on  his  part  to  prolong  his 
visit,  and  he  would  have  died  soocer  than  raise  the 
suspicions  of  an  honest  girl,  who  had  trusted  in  his 
honor. 

She  did  not  endeavor  to  detain  him,  and  he  left  her, 
with  a  thousand  joyous  visions  dancing  through  his 
brain,  and  leaving  his  heart  behind  him.  He  hardly 
knew  himself,  so  much  had  his  notions  changed  in  the 
brief  space  of  a  few  hours.  When  he  left  the  Grand 
Hotel  that  morning  he  had  determined  to  carry  on  a  war 
to  the  knife  against  all  those  who  had  treated  him  so 
cruelly,  and  to  use  for  that  purpose  the  bequest  made  to 
him  by  his  next  door  neighbor  in  the  prison.  He  had 
thrust  aside  all  his  scruples,  and  the  hateful  legacy  was 
no  longer  a  burden  on  his  conscience.  The  wise  advice  of 
Valbrec  had  caused  him  a  little  anxiety,  in  opening  his  eyes 
to  the  dangers  of  his  equivocal  position,  but  he  had  never 
seriously  thought  of  stopping  short  in  the  perilous  road 
upon  which  he  was  proceeding;  and,  yet,  a  few  words  from 
Cecile  Cambremer  had  upset  all  his  previous  resolves. 
He  entirely  forgot  his  enemies,  his  plans  of  revenge,  and 
even  Cornelian,  who  threatened  him  with  her  dangerous 
love.  He  only  thought  of  Cecile,  and  that  sweet  and  happy 
existence  of  which  she  had  permitted  him  to  catch  a 
glimpse.  He  had  not  wished  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  his 
conscience,  and  yet  he  had  not  been  able  to  stifle  it 
entirely.  He  had  argued  to  himself  that  he  was  at  per- 
fect liberty  to  use  this  money  to  do  good  to  the  unfortu- 
nate who  had  been  cruelly  persecuted  by  destiny;  but  now 
the  scales  had  fallen  from  his  eyes,  and,  though  blinded 
by  a  momentary  evil  impulse,  he  saw  the  correct  road  of 
duty.  This  vast  amount  of  gold  must  belong  to  some 
one  and  he  had  no  right  to  dispose  of  it,  even  in  works 
of  charity.  It  was  natural  that  he  should  feel  unwilling 
to  denounce  the  robber  who  had  trusted  in  him,  but  that 


THE  felon's  bequest.  77 

need  not  prevent  his  seeking  for  the  person  who  had 
been  plundered.  The  disappearance  of  so  large  a  sum 
must  have  caused  some  sensation  at  the  time  of  the  rob- 
bery, and  no  doubt  the  papers  of  that  date  would  have 
mentioned  the  occurrence.  All  that  he  had  to  do,  then, 
was  to  go  through  them  carefully,  and  see  if  there  was 
any  narrative  of  the  breaking  into,  and  emptying  of  a 
safe  by  some  daring  burglars,  and  if  he  could  find  out  all 
about  it,  all  that  he  would  have  to  do  would  be  to  inform 
the  victims  of  the  robbery,  or  their  heirs,  of  the  existence 
of  the  treasure  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle.  In  order  to  do  this 
he  need  not  even  give  his  name,  as  an  anonymous  letter 
would  serve  the  purpose. 

He  need  not  even  put  back  the  money  he  had  taken 
from  the  hiding-place,  for,  doubtless,  the  exact  amount 
of  the  sum  was  unknown,  and  even  if  it  were  the  owners 
would  certainly  not  be  surprised  at  finding  a  certain  defi- 
ciency in  it  Avhich  he  could  afterwards  replace,  by  sending 
it  to  them  anonymously,  without  running  any  risk.  Then 
he  would  have  no  more  feelings  of  anxiety,  no  more  pangs 
of  remorse;  he  would  no  longer  be  entangled  in  a  web  of 
falsehood,  and  would  be  freed  from  the  necessity  of  mak- 
ing any  more  nocturnal  visits  to  the  Hill  of  Monmartre. 
Instead  of  living  like  a  millionaire,  he  could  lead  an  hon- 
orable existence  on  the  results  of  his  work,  and  so  prove 
himself  worthy  of  the  brave  and  true-hearted  girl  whose 
acquaintanceship  he  had  made.  In  order  to  keep  bis 
promise  to  her,  he  must  take  the  position  on  the  paper, 
which  Valbrec  had  offered  him,  and  he  hoped  that  he 
would  do  well  in  it.  He  had  no  doubt  regarding  his 
abihty  to  fill  it,  for  George  had  a  fairly  good  opinion  of 
himself.  These  thoughts  occupied  the  whole  of  the  time 
consumed  in  his  return  from  the  Avenue  Laumiere,  and 
recurred  to  him  again  and  again  during  the  remainder  of 
the  day. 


\    I 


78  THE  felon's  bequest. 

CHAPTER  XL 

A   STUMBLE   OX    THE    THRESHOLD. 

George  had  now  made  up  his  mind  to  accept  Valbreo's 
proposal,  and  at  the  appointed  time  began  to  dress  him- 
self for  the  dinner  at  which  he  was  to  meet  his  future 
colleagues.  He  took  so  much  time  over  his  toilet  that 
by  the  time  he  arrived  they  had  already  sat  down  to 
dinner.  He  found  half  a  dozen  merry  fellows  seated 
round  the  board,  two  of  whom  he  knew  as  professed  men 
about  town.  All  the  others  belonged  to  the  world  of 
journalism.  There  was  a  retailer  of  the  doings  of  society, 
Valbrec,  a  political  writer,  a  theatrical  critic,  and  an 
advertising  agent,  who  was  not  the  least  important  per- 
sonage of  the  party.  Valbrec  received  George  with 
enthusiasm,  and  all  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome,  though 
everyone  was  well  acquainted  with  his  little  misadven- 
ture. But  it  was  the  lucky  heir  to  a  large  fortune  that 
they  were  now  greeting,  for  Valbrec  had  told  them  aU; 
and  though  they  might,  like  his  comrades  on  the  Stock 
Exchange,  have  turned  their  backs  on  him  had  his  cir- 
cumstances remained  as  they  were,  yet  their  utmost 
respect  was  given  to  the  million  which  he  was  reported 
to  have  brought  over  from  England. 

George  could  have  dispensed  vnth  their  congratula- 
tions, which  he  now  felt,  since  his  last  resolve,  were  rather 
ill-timed,  but  it  was  necessary  to  endure  them,  and  he 
made  up  his  mind  that  during  dinner  he  woidd  tell  them 
that,  in  spite  of  this  money,  he  was  determined  to  pursue 
the  profession  of  a  journalist." 

•^  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Valbrec,  when  the  introduction 
had  been  completed,  "  can  you  do  vdthout  soup  ?  " 

"  Easily." 

"  Good;  because  it  has  just  been  taken  away.  You  are 
two  bottles  of  champagne  behind  us,  and  must  try  and 
catch  us  up." 

"  Fill  my  glass,"  answered  George,  gaily;  and  when 
this  was  done,  he  drained  it  at  a  draught,  and  was  soon 
in  a  fit  disposition  to  hold  his  own  with  the  others,  who 
were  not  men  tp  Jet  the  evening  pass  is  d\4lGess  m^ 


THE  felon's  bequest.  79 

melancholy.  The  conversation  became  general,  and  the 
most  serious  subjects  were  treated  with  sceptical  sarcasm. 
George  was  quite  able  to  join  in  this  conversation,  for 
his  experience  on  the  Stock  Exchange  had  taken  away 
his  regret  for  most  things. 

To  his  great  amusement  they  laid  bare,  in  a  few  biting 
words,  the  characters  of  the  celebrities  of  the  day,  poli- 
tical, literary,  or  any  sort  whatever,  and  he  took  a  promi- 
nent part  in  the  exchange  of  cutting  remarks  regarding 
them. 

After  a  day  of  intense  excitement  wine  soon  gets  into 
the  head,  and  the  tongue  moves  freely.  George's  remarks 
became  so  witty  that  at  last  the  theatrical  critic  observed: 
"  What  a  pity  it  is  that  you  are  so  rich  !  You  were  bom 
to  write  the  weekly  echoes  of  the  day." 

"  I  ask  nothing  better,"  returned  George,  "  and  I  look 
to  my  friend  Paul  to  find  me  a  place  on  his  paper." 

"  Whenever  you  like,  my  dear  fellow,"  returned  Val- 
brec.  "  You  have  but  to  say  the  word.  I  don't  think 
that  you  would  make  a  figure  in  the  heavier  lines,  but  I 
am  sure  that  the  lighter  ones  would  suit  you  to  a  hair." 

"  A  man  is  always  successful  who  has  plenty  of  money," 
said  the  advertising  agent." 

"  If,"  said  the  political  writer,  "  I  were  a  millionaire, 
like  M.  Cransac,  instead  of  scribbling  for  other  papers,  I 
would  start  one  of  my  own,  and  be  the  editor." 

"  With  yourself  as  sub-editor,"  retorted  Valbrec.  "  Don't 
listen  to  him  George,  my  boy,  and  be  content  with  writ- 
ing the  skits  that  suit  you.  I  do  not  think  that  you  have 
much  ambition,  and  you  wiU  be  all  the  more  comfortable 
from  having  no  responsibility.  Do  you  want  a  subject  ? 
Here  is  one.  Why  should  you  not  start  with  one  on 
Mazas  ?" 

"  A  capital  idea,'  said  the  theatrical  critic. 

"  You  must  commence  it  by  a  violent  attack  upon  the 
present  system  of  prison  discipline,"  remarked  the  lead- 
ing article  writer. 

"  I  should  simply  narrate  what  I  saw,"  said  George, 
who  was  a  little  annoyed  at  the  allusion  to  his  recent 
adventure;  "but  I  will  take  good  care  to  mention  the 
kind  of  reception  I  received  on  the  Exchange  after  I  came 
out." 

ft  The  Stock  F^xchange  fellows  are  a  re^lar  set  of  curSi 


80  THE  felon's  bequest. 

Now  that  you  have  money  to  invest  they  will  wait  outside 
your  door  for  hours,  so  as  to  gain  a  little  brokerage." 

"  Talking  of  investments,"  said  Valbrec,  "  are  you  still 
resolved  to  buy  a  house  ?"    • 

"I  have  not  quite  made  up  my  mind  yet,"  stammered 
George,  who  did  not  like  to  mention  his  new  plans  before 
the  present  company. 

"  If  you  do  decide,  I  can  tell  you  of  a  fine  opportunity. 
Juliet,  your  old  flame,  is  quite  smashed  up.  Her  house 
in  the  Eue  Jouffroy  is  for  sale,  and  wiU  go  for  a  song.  It 
would  be  funny  for  you  to  take  possession  of  it,  after  her 
creditors  had  turned  her  out.  She  played  you  a  nice 
trick,  so  it  would  be  a  sweet  bit  of  revenge." 

"  A  bad  lot,  that  Juliet,"  remarked  the  theatrical  critic. 
"  She  has  brought  ill-luck  to  all  her  lovers." 

"  Don't  you  buy,"  said  the  advertisement  agent.  "  Much 
better  build.  I  know  of  a  splendid  site  to  be  sold  very 
cheap,  and  in  a  splendid  position,  on  the  Butte  Mont- 
martre." 

"  That  isn't  a  fashionsble  locality,"  interposed  the  poHti- 
cal  writer.  "  You  must  have  an  interest  in  the  property, 
dear  boy,  and  want  to  make  commission." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  M.  Cransac  would  have  a 
splendid  view,  and  there  would  be  something  original  in 
the  idea  of  establishing  himself  there.  He  would  be 
different  from  everybody  else,  and,  in  addition,  I  know 
an  architect  who  would  undertake  to  build  a  charming 
house  there  at  a  moderate  cost. 

George  had  picked  up  his  ears  at  the  mention  of  the 
name  Montmartre,  but  he  did  not  for  a  moment  imagine 
that  the  spot  in  question  was  the  garden  in  the  Rue 
Gabrielle. 

"  Gentlemen,  you  are  most  wearisome,  talking  about 
real  property  and  estate  to  people  who  have  not  a  half- 
penny to  buy  them  with.  I  would  as  soon  read  the  adver- 
tisement columns  in  the  papers  as  listen  to  you.  If  M. 
Cransac  wants  to  become  a  house  proprietor,  let  him  go 
to  his  notary  and  consult  him.  Let  us  talk  about  women ; 
it  will  be  far  more  amusing." 

"  Talk  about  women  ?  Why,  what  else  have  we  done 
since  we  sat  down  to  dinner  ?" 

*•  Don't  you  talk.  Is  it  because  you  mentioned  Juliet 
Taupier?     "Well?  she   dosen't  count,   becaiise  she  has 


^  THE  felon's  BEQUEST.  81 

gone  to  the  wall  Peace  be  to  the  memory  of  a  fallen 
star.  Well,  well,  I  only  occupy  myself  with  rising  stars, 
and  I  know  one  that  will  draw  aJl  Paris  to  her." 

"  "WTiere  will  they  be  drawn  to  ?" 

"  To  the  theatre  of  the  Porte  Saint  Martin  where  she  is 
coming  out." 

"As  a  daacer?"' 

"  No,  as  a  tamer  of  wild  beasts.     She  does  the  lion  and 
tiger  business,  and  fetches  the  men  besides.     She  is  the  • 
finest  girl  I  have  ever  seen."  « 

"  Where  does  she  hang  out?"  ^ 

**  Just  now  she  is  on  show  in  the  Boulevard  de  Clichy." 

"  I  know  her,"  cried  Valbrec.  "  It  is  Cornelian.  What 
do  ^ou  say,  Cr ansae  ?" 

"  If  you  have  seen  her  you  will  agree  with  me  that  she 
is  a  magnificent  creature,  and  will  be  a  wonderful  draw  at 
the  theatre.     la  my  next  article!  propose  to  give  her  a  o 
notice  that  will  make  her  go  like  anything." 

"  You  are  in  her  good  graces  then  ?" 

"  Suppose  I  told  you  that  I  have  just  come  from  seeing 
her,  and  that  I  narrowly  missed  bringing  her  here  to  * 
dinner  this  evening  ?" 

"With  all  her  beasts?    No,  thank  you."  ,    • 

"  Not  with  her  beasts,  butin  her  tunic  and  her  fleshings; , 
and  I  tell  you  she  is  shaped  like  the  huntress  Diana." 

"  Brebant  Avould  not  have  let  her  come  in,  in  that  rig- 
out." 

"  Well  why  didn't  you  bring  her  after  all  ?" 

"  Because  she  had  a  show  on  at  ten  o'clock.  I  entreated 
her  to  come  in  afterwards,  but  she  pretended  that  she 
had  an  appointment  at  midnight." 

"  With  the  Hercules  of  the  North,  or  the  Rampart  of 
Montpellier  ?" 

■  "  I  don't  kno\Y.     1  think  she  has  a  lover  in  that  class; 
but  that  won't  prevent  h6r  being  the  pet  of  all  the 
mashers  when  she  comes  out.     I  tell  you  that  she  will   ' 
cause  a  perfect  furor.'' 

George  knew  more  than  they  did  about  this  new  won- 
der, and  congratulated  himself  with  not  having  met  her 
at  dinner,  for  had  he  done  so  he  was  sure  that  she  would 
have  begun  her  game  over  again,  and  he  was  more  than 
ever  resolved  to  repulse  the  advances  of  a  woman?  who 
^was  evidently  unfettered  by  the  slightest  f eehngs  of  mod-  ' 


•?"^i 


82  THE  felon's  bequest. 

esty.  On  the  whole  he  was  rather  disgusted  that  both 
her  name  and  Juliet's  should  have  come  uj)  at  table.  He 
wished  to  blot  out  the  jsast;  and  it  seemed  as  if  all  the 
men  with  whom  he  was  dining  had  conspired  to  remind 
him  of  it.  Each  of  them,  he  noticed,  was  working  for  his 
own  interests;  the  theatrical  critic  was  raving  of  the  beau- 
ties of  a  girl  he  wished  to  push  on;  the  political  writer 
wanted  him  to  start  a  paper,  for  the  sake  of  getting  the 
post  of  sub-editor;  and  the  advertisement  agent  sought 
to  sell  a  jDlot  of  land  in  order  to  gain  his  commission. 
But  not  one  of  them  seemed  surprised  that  Cransac  was 
desirous,  in  spite  of  his  recent  accession  to  wealth  of 
entering  the  i^rofession  of  literature,  for  he  still  persisted 
in  keeping  to  the  honorable  course  he  had  resolved  on, 
of  earning  his  bread  by  toil,  and  not  touching  the  stolen 
money,  a  portion  of  which  was  even  then  in  his  pocket. 
He  had  now  come  across  a  portion  of  society  who  accepted 
him  with  all  Lis  antecedents,  and  not  one  of  whom  doubted 
the  fact  that  he  had  been  the  victim  of  a  judicial  error.  This 
reflection  soothed  him,  and  restored  the  equilibrivun  of  his 
mind.  The  end  of  the  dinner  was  even  gayer  than  the 
beginning,  and  George  showed  that  he  was  made  of  differ- 
ent stuff  from  the  brokers  with  whom  he  had  until  now 
been  in  the  habit  of  associating.  George  held  Lis  own 
with  the  most  brilliant  amongst  the  conversationalists,  and 
one  of  the  company  proposed  to  consecrate  his  entrance 
into  the  world  of  letters  by  j^ouring  some  champagne  on 
his  head.  George,  upon  whom  the  wine  had  taken  some 
effect,  submitted  to  this  burlesque  ceremony  with  patience, 
but  even  amidst  all  these  follies  he  did  not  forget  Cecile 
Cambremer.  It  seemed  to  him  so  sweet  to  call  up  the 
remembrance  of  the  poor  workgirl,  who  was  so  entirely 
unknown  to  the  merry  band  assembled  round  the  table 
and  who  seemed  to  him  to  know  everyone.  These 
thoughts  were  passing  through  his  mind  when  the  name 
of  the  Marquis  de  Simancas  struck  upon  his  ear,  and  the 
man  himself  referred  to  in  not  the  most  respectful  terms. 
This  grand  foreign  nobleman,  according  to  them,  passed 
his  time  in  dabbling  in  specvdations,  and  in  running  after 
the  daughters  of  the  lower  ranks  of  Parisians. 

George,  who  was  still  incensed  against  the  marquis  for 
his  reception  of  him,  was  not  at  all  displeased  to  hear 
that  the  conduct  of  his  former  customer  was  by  no  means 


THE  felon's  bequest.  83 

irreproachable,  but  the  idea  never  crossed  his  mind  that 
Simancas  might  one  day  endeavor  to  dazzle  with  his 
colossal  fortune  the  fair  florist  of  the  Avenue  Laumiere. 

It  is  impossible  to  foresee  everything. 

A  meeting  like  the  present  one  could  not  be  suddenly 
cut  short,  and  about  eleven  o'clock  the  advertising  agent 
proposed  to  end  it  by  a  game  of  ecarte.  George  ought 
now  to  have  left,  but  he  was  fond  of  cards,  and  had 
drank  enough  to  prevent  his  being  cautious.  He  there- 
fore remained,  so  as  not  to  give  offence  to  his  new  friends, 
and  he  did  not  like  to  refuse  when  he  was  informed  that 
in  his  capacity  as  a  capitalist  it  had  been  decided  that 
he  should  engage  all  the  other  players.  The  money  that 
he  was  thus  compelled  to  risk  was  not  his  own  but  he 
considered  that  he  might  make  use  of  it  temporally.  The 
money  which  he  bad  taken  from  the  convict's  store  had 
already  been  dipped  into,  and  he  was  not  in  a  position  to 
refund  it  in  its  entirety,  so  he  had  effected  a  compromise 
with  his  conscience,  by  which  he  was  to  pay  back  the 
sum  he  had  borrowed  at  a  later  date.  He  had  brought 
from  London  something  like  seventeen  thousand  francs, 
which  he  had  about  him  in  notes  of  the  Bank  of  France. 
He  might  just  as  well,  he  thought,  risk  one,  in  the  hopes 
of  gaining  three  or  four,  which  would  at  once  enable  him 
to  repay  the  full  sum  borrowed  from  the  unknown  owner 
of  the  treasure.  There  is  a  proverb  that  says,  "  Hell  is 
paved  with  good  intentions,"  and  this  saying  generally 
proves  true.  The  card  table  had  been  placed  in  one 
comer  of  the  large  room  in  which  they  had  been  dining, 
and  in  sitting  down  to  play  George  had  expected  that 
the  stakes  would  be  moderate.  Generally  journalists  are 
not  overbiu'dened  with  cash,  and  he  therefore  expected 
that  the  stakes  would  not  exceed  a  few  louis.  He  there- 
fore took  from  his  pocket  book  a  note  for  a  thousand 
francs,  which  ought,  in  his  oj)inion,  to  be  sufficient  to  cover 
the  stakes,  and  in  doing  so,  he  unfortunaty  peiinitted  the 
others  to  see  that  there  were  many  more  left  in  the  book. 
This  was  enough  to  induce  them  to  make  a  combined 
attack  on  him.  The  wary  Valbrec  put  down  twenty 
francs,  the  political  writer  did  the  same,  but  the  adver- 
tising contractor  began  with  five  louis,  and  the  two 
other  men  risked  two  each.  George's  self-respect  induced 
him  to  accept  all  the  bets,  and  he  soon  won  a  game  from 


84  THE  felon's  bequest. 

Valbrec,  who  gave  up  his  place  to  the  theatrical  critic, 
who  was  not  more  f  ortunute.  His  run  of  luck  continued, 
and  he  encountered  all  his  opponents  with  the  same  good 
fortune.  After  the  sixth  game  he  had  two  thousand 
francs  before  him,  jvithout  counting  his  own  hank-note 
which  he  had  thrown  down.  He  was  in  imagination,  on 
bis  way  to  the  Rue  Gabrielle,  and  resolved  that  very 
night  to  put  back  the  money  he  had  taken,  and  so  set  his 
conscience  at  rest.  He  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
win  five  thousand  francs,  which  would  leave  him  two 
thousand  to  go  on  with  after  he  had  made  the  restitution. 
Three  games  more  brought  his  gains  up  to  four  thous- 
and, and  he  was  strongly  tempted  to  stop  there.  "  Faith, 
my  dear  fellow."  said  Valbrec,  who  had  lost  three  hun- 
dred francs,  "  you  are  too  lucky.  I  shan't  try  any  longer 
to  get  back  my  money,  and  shall  go  "to  bed.  G-ood  night 
all.  When  you  leave,  tell  them  to  send  me  the  bill,  as  I 
have  stood  the  dinner.  George  fancied  that  Valbrec 
was  giving  him  a  hint  and  prepared  to  rise  from  his 
seat,  but  was  stopped  by  a  chorus  of  maledictions  which 
rose  up  against  the  runaway  who  was  setting  so  bad  aii 
example.  "All  you  have  to  do  now  is  to  take  away  M. 
Cransac,'  growled  the  advertisement  agent.  "  Why  don't 
you  advise  him  to  make  o£E  with  his  winniugs,  whilst 
you  are  about  it  ?  " 

"  If  I  were  in  his  place,  I  should  go  away,"  returned 
Valbrec,  calmly;  "  but  he  is  at  perfect  liberty  to  remain." 

And  so  Cransac  stayed,  though  he  was  most  anxious  to 
go  away.  The  game  went  on  but  not  with  the  same 
results.  The  advertisement  agent  took  the  cards,  and  fickle 
fortune,  veered  round  at  once,  for  he  began  to  gain 
immediately.  The  last  game  had  cost  George  seventy- 
five  louis.  "  WiU  you  go  ahiindred  louis  ?  "  asked  one  of 
the  players.  Then,  as  George  hesitated,  he  went  on:  "If 
you  don't  accept,  I  will  take  your  place;  that  is  the  rule." 
George  accepted  the  bet,  and  lost.  All  his  winnings  had 
gone,  and  he  must  either  retire  from  the  field  or  dip  more 
deeply  into  the  contents  of  his  pocket  book.  He  did  so, 
and  the  reverse  became  a  total  defeat;  his  banknotes  flew 
across  the  table  like  routed  soldiers  retreating  before  the 
enemy.  His  store  grew  less,  and  less,  and  his  adversa- 
ries continued  to  inci-ease  their  stakes,  so  that  after  a  last 
loss  of  five  hundred  louis,  George  found  that  he  had  Ipst  all 


THE  felon's  bequest.  86 

he  possessed.  He  need  not  have  ceased  playing,  for  his 
opponents  would  have  permitted  him  to  go  on  on  credit, 
but  he  would  not  do  so,  for  he  already  owed  the  adver- 
tisement agent  five  thousand  francs,  just  the  sum  he  had 
hoped  to  gain.  A  gleam  of  good  sense  flashed  across  his 
brain,  and  he  rose  uj)  from  the  table.  His  creditor  in 
honeyed  accents  besought  him  to  take  all  necessary  time 
to  pay  his  debt  in,  but  he  at  the  same  time  took  good  care 
to  give  him  his  address,  so  that  the  unlucky  gamester 
could  send  him  the  money  within  the  twenty-four  hours. 
The  others  had  divided  the  rest  of  the  seventeen  thousand 
francs  amongst  them,  and  George  found  himself  exactly 
in  the  same  position  that  he  had  been  on  leaving  Mazas. 
The  money  belonging  to  his  prison-mate  had  not  done 
him  much  good.  Certainly  it  had  been  ordained  that  all 
his  good  resolutions  should  vanish  in  smoke.  After  this 
well-deserved  disaster  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  apply 
himself  once  again  to  the  accursed  source  from  which  he  had 
drawn  the  first  portion  of  his  wealth,  although  he  had 
vowed  not  to  go  back  again  except  to  replace  what  he 
had  taken  away.  He  could  resign  himself  to  endiu-e 
misery  and  privation,  but  he  could  not  endure  the  thought 
of  being  the  debtor  of  a  man  who  had  some  position  on 
the  paper  on  which  he  was  about  to  be  engaged,  and  he 
dared  not  extricate  himself  fi'om  his  embarrassments 
by  telling  the  whole  truth  to  Valbrec. 

As  he  went  forth  into  the  street,  with  the  chill  feeling 
of  despair  and  death  clutching  at  his  heart,  he  murmured: 

"  I  had  resolved  to  become  an  honest  man,  but  fate  pre- 
vents me.    I  will  pay  another  visit  to  Montmartre.'' 


86  THE  felon's  bequest. 

CHAPTER  Xn. 

AN   UNHOLY    COMPACT. 

Whence  come  all  these  wealthy  foreigners,  furnished 
with  sonorous  titles,  who  alight  every  year  in  Paris,  like 
the  locusts  do  in  the  Algerian  harvests  ?  Where  have  they 
obtained  their  millions  and  theii'  rank  ?  Have  they  been 
formerly  pirates,  or  only  simple  slave  dealers  ?  Have  they 
escaped  from  some  jjenal  colony  beyond  the  seas,  and 
assumed  a  new  identity  like  the  convict  Coignard,  who 
was  received  at  the  Court  of  Louis  XYIII,  under  the  name 
of  Count  Pontis  de  Saint  Helene.  In  Paris  no  one  is 
suspicious  of  anyone  who  has  plenty  of  money.  People 
highly  placed  in  society  treat  them  as  adventiu-ers,  but 
accept  invitations  to  their  parties.  Ti'adesmen  endeavor 
to  gain  their  custom,  and  the  regular  Parisian  cad  admires 
them  immensely.  It  is  only  the  people,  the  real  people, 
who  estimate  them  at  their  true  worth,  and  who  shrug 
their  shoulders  when  they  see  them  roU  past  in  their  gaudy 
carriages.  The  people  thoroughly  understand  their  inso- 
lent pursuit  of  their  daughters,  and  look  upon  the  luxury 
that  they  flauntingly  disjDlay  as  an  insult  to  honest  poverty. 
The  worst  of  all  are  those  who  dabble  in  speculation,  and 
who  often  rob  the  unwary  wth  the  most  perfect  impunity, 
as  when  the  speculation  turns  out  badly  all  that  they  have 
to  do  is  to  put  the  sea  between  their  dupes  and  themselves. 

M.  de  Simancas  was  a  magnificent  specimen  of  the  TraDS- 
^lantic  adventui'er.  He  had  one  day  dropped  on  Paris 
with  the  suddenness  of  an  aerolite,  and  had  resided  there 
for  the  last  three  years  without  anyone  knowing  anything 
at  all  regarding  his  past.  He  gave  himseK  the  title  of 
marquis,  and  pretended  that  he  had  served  in  some  portion 
of  the  world  with  the  rank  of  general,  and  some  persons 
were  polite  enough  to  believe  his  statement.  Every  now 
and  then  he  would  give  a  splendid  ball  at  his  house  in  the 
Avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  to  which  many  would  go 
who  would  not  have  received  their  host  in  their  own  house, 
and  he  had  become  one  of  those  Parisian  celebrities  whose 
daily  doings  are  recorded  by  the  Press;  but  his  private 
history,  which  many  would  have  liked  to  learn,  was  stiU 


THE  felon's  bequest.  67 

wrapped  in  impenetrable  mystery.  If  the  truth  must  be 
told  he  had  really  come  to  Paris  to  do  business — that  is, 
to  get  hold  of  other  people's  money;  and  he  only  loved 
two  things  in  this  world:  money  and  women — more  especi- 
ally money.  Women  held  a  secondary  place,  though  in 
his  pursuit  of  them  he  allowed  no  obstacles  to  stand  in  his 
way.  He  behaved  himself  in  Paris  like  a  bandit  chief  in 
a  town  that  his  band  had  taken  by  assaidt,  and  every 
strategem  by  which  he  could  gratify  his  whims  was  legit- 
imate. He  had  commenced  by  making  the  acquaintance 
of  all  the  ladies  of  the  half  world,  but  growing  wearied  of 
these  easy  successes,  he  sought  for  other  fields  in  which 
the  victory  could  be  achieved  by  cunning  or  violence.  To 
tempt  a  married  woman  to  forget  her  duties  to  her  hus- 
band, to  profit  by  pecuniary  distresses  to  buy  a  child  from 
an  unworthy  mother,  to  draw  into  a  trap  a  virtuous  work- 
girl,  were  some  of  the  pleasures  that  he  most  preferred. 
He  loved  evil  for  its  own  sake,  and  he  had  more  than  once 
lent  money  to  persons  in  embarassed  circumstances,  so 
that  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  hunting  them  down 
with  unflinching  pertinacity.  It  was  his  natural  vileness 
of  disposition  that  had  prevented  his  testifying  publicly 
to  George  Cransac's  innocence;  and  his  reason  for  giving 
his  eridence  before  the  examining  magistrate  was  that  he 
always  kept  on  good  terms  with  the  law,  for  he  hated  the 
young  man  for  having  once  or  twice  refused  to  mix  him- 
self up  in  shady  transactions,  when  he  had  endeavored  to 
make  him  his  tool,  and  he  wanted  some  one  who  was  less 
scrupulous. 

In  appearance  Don  Manuel  de  Simancas  was  a  hand- 
some man,  with  hair,  beard,  and  moustache  as  black  as 
jet,  and  eyes  of  flame.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  more  than 
five  and  forty  years  of  age,  but  he  may  have  been  over 
fifty.  He  was  a  careful  dresser,  and  his  manner  was  of 
that  haughty  character  which  impresses  the  iminitiated, 
and  some  ladies  who  judge  by  outward  show  might  have 
been  captivated  by  him.  The  house  which  he  piu'chased 
on  his  arrival  in  Paris  was,  like  its  master,  extremely  fine, 
and  the  cage  was  woiihy  of  the  bird  ;  gilded  reception 
rooms,  cosy  private  apartments,  all  furnished  with  the 
greatest  luxury  ;  summer  and  winter  gardens,  magnificent 
stabKng — nothing  was  wanting.  The  life  of  this  mighty 
aristocrat  was  mapped  out  with  all  the  regulai'ity  of  an 


88  '      THE  felon's  bequest. 

official  ceremony.  The  morning  was  devoted  to  business. 
M.  de  Simancas  receive  i  his  agents  and  financiers,  and 
gave  orders  for  his  operations  on  the  Stock  Exchange, 
when  he  declined  to  show  himself.  At  three  he  went  out 
driving  or  riding.  The  remainder  of  his  time  he  gave  up 
to  enjoyment,  and  he  varied  these  pleasvires  by  luxurious 
dinners  at  a  restaurant,  choice  parties  in  his  house,  or 
expeditions  in  search  of  some  "beauty  of  whose  channs  he 
had  been  informed  by  his  emissaries. 

The  day  after  the  night  which  had  turned  out  so  disas- 
trovi^ly  for  George  M.  Simancas  was  talking  to  two  or 
three  outside  operators  when  his  valet  brought  him  a 
card,  upon  which  was  inscribed  the  name  of  Juliet  Taupier. 
She  was  an  old  friend_of  the  Marquis  de  Simancas,  this 
ill-conditioned  woman  who  insulted  her  lovers  after 
plundering  them.  He  had  made  her  acquaintance  upon  ' 
his  first  arrival  in  Paris,  and  had  contributed  somewhait 
to  the  position  that  she  had  attained  ;  but  he  soon  grew 
weary  of  her,  though  he  saw  her  occasionally  to  gain  from 
her  some  intelligence  regarding  the  new  stars  that  had- 
rizen  on  the  horizeu  of  the  world  of  Bohemia,  and  infor- 
mation regarding  which  she  was  able  to  fiu-nish.  Simancas 
was  ignorant  that  George  'Cransac  had  been  one  of  her 
lovers  ;  indeed,  he  had  no  curiosity  regarding  the  life  she 
led  since  his  leaving  her.  She  had  come  to  see  him  thus 
early  in  order  that  she  might  be  certain  to  find  him  in, 
and  to  take  him  by  surprise,  so  that  he  might  not  refuse 
to  receive  her.  A  s  he  imagined  that  she  might  have. 
come  to  announce  the  discovery  of  some  marvel  of  youth 
and  beauty,  he  told  his  valet  to  usher  her  into  his  study. 
It  was  a  long  time  since  Juliet  had  been  admitted  to  the 
more  private  ajDartments  of  the  house,  and  she  entered  the 
reom  timidly,  with  the  air  of  an  ex-favorite,  who  felt  that 
her  charms  will  not  be  sufficient  to  reconquer  the  heart  of 
her  former  lord.  The  marqms  received  her  without  rising 
from  his  arm-chair,  in  which  he  was  smoking  a  cigar.  It 
appeared  as  if  he  wished  to  humiliate  her,  for  he  treated 
her  like  a  tradesman.  And  yet  Juliet  was  very-pretty, 
with  her  golden  haii',  her  fair  complexion,  and  great  blue 
eyes ;  but  the  voluptuary  was  tired  of  her,  and  only 
appreciated  fresh  faces,  as  she  knew;well  enough. 

*'  Well,"  said  he,  roughly,  "  so  here  you  are.      X  expect 
that  you  have  a  proposal  to  make." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  89 

,"Two,"  answfered  Juliet,  not  .in  the  least  disconcerted. 

"  Two  are  too  much  at  one  time." 

"  No,  they  are  not,  for  they  are  of  different  kinds.     I 
have  come  to  recommend  a  friend  of  mine  tb  you,  who :. 
may  be  very  useful  to  you,  and  to  speak  to  you  about  a 
charming  woman." 

"  One  of  your  friends,"  answered  Simancas.  "  Who 
can  that  be  ?  "       . 

"  My  lover." 

"Well,  what  am  I  to  do  with  that  gentleman  ?  " 

'^"WTiatever  you  like;  he  is  good  at  everything." 

•"<.What,  even  to  taking  a  message  to  a  lady.  Thank 
you,  I  only  employ  ambassadresses  for  that  kind  of  work, 
and  I  find  you  sufficient." 

"  Arthur  doesn't  get  his  living  that  way." 

"  Arthur ! — a  pretty  name  for  the  business.  Well, 
how  does  he  get  his  living  ?  " 

"He  understands  all  kinds  of  business.  I  don't  know 
yours,  marquis,  but  I  know  that  in  great  financial  opera- 
tions you  have  sometimes  need  of  an  intelligent  young 
fellow  not  overburdened  with  scruples,  for  there  are  cer- 
tain things  that  people  do  not  care  to'  do  themselves,  and 
Arthur  would  act  for  you  much  better  than  the  brokers' 
clerks  to  whom  you  entrust  your  commissions,  and" 
who  often  make  a  mistake  by  carrying  out  your  orders 
hterally." 

"  You  are  right;  1  am  sick  of  these  outside  operators 
I  employed  one  lately,  who  got  shut  up  in  Mazas,  and 
who  had  the  imperiinence  to  come  to  me  'and  ask  for  a 
"certificate  of  his  innocence." 

"  That  was  a  fellow  named  George  Cransac,  was  it 
not?" 

"  Just  so ;  do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"Very  Httle;  he  is  not  a  very  reputable  lot.  Arthur 
would  not  have  got  into  such  an  ugly  scrape.  Try  him, 
marquis,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  will  suit  you." 

**  You  don't  keep  this  Arthur  of  yours  very  well,  since 
he  is  obliged  to  work,"  remarked  M.  de  Simancas  in  the 
most  contemptuous  tone." 

"  I  don't  keep  him;  but  if  he  has  any  money,  he  would 
share  it  with  me,  and  times  are  bad  just  now,  for  I 
haven't  a  rap." 

"  What !  you  who  used  to  live  in  such  grand  style  ?  " 


O 


90  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  In  your  time,  yes;  but  generous  noblemen  like  you 
are  rare,  and  since  you  left  me  I  have  gone  down  hill 
fast,  and  now  I  think  that  I  am  at  the  bottom  of  it, 
for  my  furniture  has  been  seized,  and  I  owe  money  on 
all  sides." 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  laughed  Simancas,  licking  his  lips  like  a 
tiger  who  smells  fresh  flesh;  "  so  you  hare  tasted  a  bit 
of  poverty's  meal." 

To  see  any  one  suffer,  more  especially  a  woman,  was  a 
rich  treat  for  him. 

"  "Well,  my  girl,"  said  he,  "  you  haven't  come  to  the 
end  of  your  troubles  yet.  In  your  line  of  business,  when 
you  once  begin  going  down  you  don't  stop  in  a  hurry. 
We  shall  soon  see  you  looking  for  gallants  in  the  Folies 
Bergeres." 

"Well,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  shan't  grumble;  but  I 
had  rather  go  into  housekeeping  with  my  Ai'thur,  and 
that  is  why  I  ask  you  to  make  some  use  of  his  tal- 
ents, and  time  presses,  for  my  house  has  been  seized  as 
well." 

"  What  I  your  place  in  the  Rue  Jouffroy  ?  " 

"  Alas !  yes,  and  I  was  so  comfortable  there,  and  to 
think  that  I  shall  be  reduced  to  take  rooms  like  a  mere 
beginner,  and  must  pay  my  rent  weekly.  Ah!  if  you 
would  only  buy  my  house,  instead  of  letting  it  be  sold 
by  auction  for  half  of  what  it  cost  me." 

"  And  of  what  use  woiild  such  a  place  be  to  me  ?  " 

"  Why  you  might  keep  a  pretty  girl  there.  Oh  I  not 
me,  I  know  all  that  is  over,  but  I  can  tell  you  of  one  who 
is  worth  a  good  house,  and  something  over. 

"  Oh,  so  that  is  what  you  come  for,  my  poor  Juliet;  you 
have  lost  your  time.  I  have  had  enough  of  setting  up  hus- 
sies in  houses." 

"  But  this  one  is  virtue  itself." 

"Then  she  is  an  imposter  who  wants  to  make  capital 
out  of  her  pretended  good  conduct" 

"  She  is  not  what  you  imagine  at  aU.  She  is  a  young 
woman  of  good  berth,  and  well  educated,  who  works  for 
her  living  because  she  has  no  fortune,  and  is  not  at  all  on 
the  lookout  for  a  protector.  If  I  spoke  about  a  house,  it 
is  because  I  am  looking  forward  to  the  future.  Just  now 
you  might  offer  her  your  own  house,  and  she  wouldn't 


THE  felon's  bequest.  91 

look  at  it,  but  later  on  she  may  not  be  so  particular.  It 
is  the  first  step  that  will  be  the  most  difficult." 

"And  has  not  that  been  taken  already?" 

No;  and  to  tell  you  the  truth  I  don't  think  she  will 
take  it  of  her  own  accord." 

"  Well,  and  suppose  that  to  be  the  case  ?  " 

"  A  man  of  your  character,  marquis,  always  gains  his 
object;  in  the  end  she  will  yield  half  willingly  and  half 
against  her  will." 

"Yes,  and  blackmail  me  afterwards.  Thanks,  but  I 
don't  want  to  have  any  trouble  with  the  poKce.  The 
game  is  not  worth  the  candle,  as  the  saying  is  here." 

"  You  would  not  talk  like  this  if  you  had  seen  her." 

"  Is  she  so  very  beautiful  then  ?  " 

"  More  so  than  any  one  you  have  ever  met." 

"  Fair,  or  dark  ?  " 

"Dark  as  the  night,  with  the  tint  and  warmth  of  a 
Creole." 

"  That  is  the  style  that  I  prefer.     Is  she  tall  ?  " 

"  Rather,  but  not  excessively  so.  Suberb  shoulders,  a 
bust  of  marble,  and  a  waist  that  you  can  span." 

"  Well,  and  what  sort  of  hands  and  feet  ?  " 

"  The  feet  of  a  child,  the  hands  of  a  duchess." 

"  And  her  voice  ?  " 

"As  clear  as  silver:  one  of  those  voices  which  stir  up  a 
man's  soul." 

•'  How  old  is  she  ?  " 

"  Twenty-one. 

"  Of  full  age,  that  is  a  guarantee  against  any  criminal 
proceeding.  But  you  will  never  persuade  me  that  a  girl 
of  that  age " 

"  I  will  answer  for  her  being  strictly  virtuous." 

"  I  don't  think  much  of  your  responsibility,  but  if  her 
other  qualities  are  such  as  you  described,  and  I  find  that 

you  have  not  exaggerated  them but  a  work-girl,  why 

her  fingers  must  be  all  pricked  with  the  needle." 

"  They  are  not,  and  for  the  excellent  reason,  that  she  is 
not  a  seamstress.  She  gives  out  and  superintends  the 
work,  but  never  soils  her  hands  with  it.  I  tell  you  that 
she  is  perfection;  a  veritable  pearl." 

"  And  in  what  gutter  of  Paris  have  you  found  this 
same  pearl?" 

"Not  in  a  theatre,  nor  in  a  restaurant,  nor  by  the  lakes 


92  THE  felon's  bequest. 

in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  She  lives  as  retired  a  life  as  a 
sister  of  charity." 

"  "  Where  does^she  live  ?  "  I  must  know  that;  for,  as  you 
can  imagine,  I  don't  put  unlimited  confidence  in  you.  I 
must  see  her  before  going  further  in  the  matter." 

"That-is  only  fair;  she  li\es  at  Belleville." 

"  At  Belleville ! "  exclaimed  M.  de  Simancas;  "  and  do 
you  think  I  am  going  to  BelleA'ille  to  look  at  her  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  I  know  that  the  Mar  quis  de  Simancas 
could  not  put  himself  out  to  look  for  an  artificial  florist; 
besides,  it  would  most  likely  spoil  the  whole  affair." 

"  Then  we  must  remain  where  we  are,  for  I  can't  buy  a 
pig  in  a  poke." 

"  You  are  quite  right;  but  she  shall  come  to  you." 

"  What !  will  this  excessiv^  virtuous  girl  spare  me  the 
trouble  of  such  a  journey  ?  That  is  what  I  call  a  most 
convenient  style  of  virtue.  My  good  girl,  I  believe  that 
your  pretended  find  is  all  humbug,  and  if  you  have  noth- 
ing more  to  say  td  me " 

"  Permit  me  to  explain  matters,  I  beg  of  you.  She  will 
come,  but  she  will  not  know  whose  house  it  is  that  she 
has  visited." 

"  I  don't  understand  you."    ' 

"And  yet  it  is  very  simple.  She  has  an  artificial  flower 
business,  and  receives  orders  every  day.  Suppose  a  for- 
eign lady  wrote  to  her  to  order  some,  which  are  to  be 
sent  to  America,  don't  you  think  that  she  would  hurry  off 
to  the  address,  which  might  turn  out  to  be  yours  ?" 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  would  compromise  myself  by 
writing  to  the  girl  ?" 

"I  will  write  the  letter,  and  sign  my  name  to  it;  an 
English  one  would  be  the  best.  Choose  your  day  and 
time,  and  I  will  answer  for  it  that  she  will  be  punctual" 

"  Very  good.  We  will  say  that  she  comes,  and  then 
» 

"  Then;  why  then,  marquis,  the  rest  concerns  you  and 
no  one  else.  Tell  your  valet  to  show  her  into  the  little 
house  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  and  once  there  she  won't 
come  out  again  without  your  leave.  If  you  don't  fancy 
her  you  can  tell  her  that  she  has  made  a  mistake,  or  that 
some  one  has  hoaxed  her;  that  there  is  no  English  lady 
residing  here,  and  that  you  have  no  need  of  artificial 


THE  felon's  bequest.  93 

flowers;  but  I  am  not  afraid  of  that,  few  when  once  you 
have  seen  her  you  will  be  in  no  hurry  to  let  her  go." 

"  Do  you  think  that  she  will  consent  ?"  asked  the  mar- 
quis, after  a  short  silence. 

"  Of  course  not;  but  there,  that  is  your  affair,  and  she 
will  doubtless  console  herself  as  others  have  done.  A  few 
banknotes  heal  all  such  troubles;  there  are  certain  things 
which  a  woman  does  not  like  to  make  public,  and  she  is 
not  one  of  the  other  sort,  I  assure  you." 

The  marquis  paused,  and  reflected  before  he  made  apy 
reply.  Steeped  in  vice  as  he  was,  he  was  extremely  care- 
ful, and  he  hesitated  to  plunge  into  a  dangerous  adven- 
ture. But  the  portrait  which  Juliet  had  dra"s\-n  was  still 
in  his  mind,  and  the  thought  that  he  might  succeed  in 
spite  of  every  obstacle  roused  his  passions,  and  then  the 
wickedness  of  the  whole  thing  was  hke  piquant  sauce  to 
his  jaded  passions.  "  Very  well,"  said  he.  "  Write  as 
Mi's.  Acton,  that  is  my  housekeeper's  name.  I  will  give 
my  servants  their  orders,  and  all  will  be  ready." 

"  That  is  right !"  exclaimed  the  ^ile  wonSan.  "  Had 
3'ou  hesitated  to  profit  by  so  favorable  a  chance,  I  should 
have  thought  Don  Manuel  de  Simancas  had  greatly 
changed  for  the  worse ;  but  now  my  mind  is  at  rest,  and 
after  to-morrow  you  will  thank  me  warmly." 

"  Say  rather  what  you  mean,  and  that  is  that  I  should 
make  you  a  handsome  present." 

"  Oh!  I  rely  entirely  on  your  generosity,  marquis.  All 
I  ask  of  you  is  to  do  something  for  my  ^'thvu'." 

-"^Let  jour  Arthur  go  to  the  deuce.  I  don't  know  him, 
and  I  don't  want  to," 

"Only  consent  to  see  him;  that  will  not  ia  any  way  bind 
you,  and  he  can  best  explain  to  yon  himself  in  what  way 
he  can  be  useful  to  you." 

"  You  are  very  pertinacious.  Let  him  come  to  me  to- 
morrow at  eleven  o'clock;  only  I  tell  you  plainly  that  if 
he  doesn't  suit  me,  out  he  goes." 

"  I  agree  to  that." 

"  At  any  rate,  you  can  take  this  with  you,"  added  the  ' 
marquis,  opening  a  drawer,  and  taking  out  a  bank-note 
for  a  thousand  francs,  and  throwing  it  to  Juliet,  who 
pounced  on  it  at  once,  and  putting  it  in  her  bosom  was 
bursting  into  a  flood  of  thanks.dvhich  the  marquis  cut 
short,  and  dismissed  her  without  any  ceremony. 


94  THE  felon's  bequest. 

If  M.  de  Simancas  had  been  able  to  follow  her  with  his 
eyes  he  would  have  seen  an  amusing  sight. 

Arthur  was  waiting  for  his  fair  friend  on  a  bench  in  the 
Avenue  de  Bois  de  Boulogne,  but  as  soon  as  he  saw  her 
coming  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and  sauntered  in  the  opposite 
direction,  knowing  that  she  would  speedily  follow  him,  and 
he  had  no  desire  to  meet  her  almost  under  the  windows 
of  the  marquis.  Juliet  came  up  with  her  well-matched 
lover,  some  fifty  yards  from  the  Rue  Pergolese. 

"  Well?"  asked  Ai-thur. 

"  I  had  some  trouble  in  making  him  listen  to  me,  but  I 
managed  it  at  last.  He  will  see  the  girl  at  five  o'clock 
to-morrow,  so  I  have  no  time  to  lose  in  writing  to  the 
little  prude." 

"  Did  you  say  anything  about  me  ?" 

"Yes,  and  that  was  a  far  harder  matter;  but  he 
promised  to  see  you  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Good;  all  I  want  is  to  see  him." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  satisfied,  but  what  is  the  busi- 
ness that  you  are  going  to  jjropose  to  him  ?" 

"  My  dear,  that  is  my  lookout.  I  have  one  that  he 
will  snap  at,  I  am  certain." 

"  You  might  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"No  good.  Women  don't  understand  these  matters. 
Your  line  is  to  decoy  the  girl  into  the  trap,  and  when  she 
is  there,  we  will  see  what  more  we  can  make  out  of  the 
foreign  swell." 

"  We  wiU  get  all  we  can,  by  threatening  to  report  the 
matter  to  the  police." 

"  It  was  my  idea  to  bait  the  hook  with  the  girl,  and  it 
was  a  golden  one.  No  more  Queer  Street  then,  and  I 
shall  be  able  to  do  business  on  a  grand  scale,  and  leave 
off  little  swindles." 

"  If  you  make  a  fortune,  you  will  owe  it  to  me,  and  I 
shall  expect  my  share." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  answered  Arthur;  but  there  was 
none  of  that  heartiness  in  his  tone  that  bears  conviction 
with  it. 

"  And  also  that  you  won't  leave  me  for  another  girl.'-' 

"  Come,  come,  no  jealousy.  It  appears  to  me  that  I  have 
given  you  proofs.  You  were  always  telhng  me  that  I  had 
a  hankering  after  Cecile,  and  it  was  to  shut  your  mouth 


THE  felon's  bequest.  95 

that  I  showed  you  the  way  to  throw  her  into  the  clutches 
of  Simancas." 

"A  question  of  money,  not  of  sentiment,"  replied  Juliet, 
who  had  fathomed  the  baseness  of  her  lover  s  disposition. 

"Did  I  make  a  fuss  about  you  and  your  George," 
retorted  Arthur. 

"  You  know  I  only  cared  about  his  money,  and  now  he 
hasn't  got  one  coin  to  rub  against  another." 

"  But  he  has  friends  in  the  hterary  world,  and  may 
pick  himself  up  again." 

"Never,  he  is  too  great  a  fool;  besides,  after  the  way 
in  which  I  treated  him  at  Montmartre,  he  won't  be  too 
anxious  to  come  across  me  again." 

Arthur  did  not  care  to  be  reminded  of  the  slap  in  the 
face  he  had  received  at  that  meeting,  and  therefore  cut 
short  his  mistress'  discourse. 

"Will  you  get  anything  out  of  the  marquis  for  your 
information  ?" 

"  Not  a  rap,  my  dear.  The  marquis  is  as  artful  as  Old 
Nick.  He  pays  well  when  he  is  well  served,  but  he  doesn't 
come  down  iu  advance." 

Arthur  said  no  more,  but  Juliet  could  see  plainly  that 
he  did  not  believe  her,  and  she  determined,  upon  her 
arrival  at  home,  to  hide  her  banknote  carefully,  so  that 
it  might  not  be  found  by  the  fellow  whom  she  termed  her 
real  lover,  probably  because  neither  of  them  had  an  idea 
what  real  love  meant. 

Their  interesting  conversation  had  carried  them  as  far 
as  the  Place  de  I'Etoile,  and,  as  the  funds  were  low,  they 
were  about  to  take  the  omnibus,  at  the  entrance  of  the 
Avenue  Wagram,  which  passes  down  the  Avenue  Villiers, 
close  by  the  Kue  Jouffroy,  when  they  saw  a  woman  in  an 
open  carriage  disputing  with  her  coachman  in  the  middle 
of  the  street.  "  Look  there !  "  cried  Juliet  ;  "  talk  of  the 
devU,  etc.  "Why,  there  is  the  wild  beast  girl,  that  threw 
her  whip  at  Cransac." 

"Well,  what  of  that?  I  don't  suppose  you  want  to  speak 
to  her,"  said  Arthur,  endeavoring  to  draw  his  fair  com- 
panion in  an  opposite  direction. 

But  Cornelian  had  good  eyes,  and  recognizing  them 
both  in  a  moment,  jumped  out  of  her  cab,  and  came  straight 
up  to  the  affectionate  couple,  who  were  endeavoring  to 
avoid  her. 


96  THE  eelon's  bequest. 

o  *  CHAPTER   yjTL 

•  A     SLIGHTED     WOMAN. 

Arthur  and  Juliet  could  hardly  believe  their  eyes,  for 
in  everyday^  costume  the  Lion  Queen  was  hardly  recogniz- 
able. Juliet  had  only  seen  her  once  in  her  fleshings,  and 
though  Arthur,  had  been  (to.  more  intimate  terms  with  '  ' 
her,  he  was  not  aware  that  she  possessed  such  handsome 
clothes.  Ever  since  the  Fair  of  Saint  Cloud,  where  he 
had  lirst  met  her,  Cornelian  had  taken  far  more  pains  with 
her  toilet.  The  plaid  shawl,  .which  she  had  formerly  con-  , 
sidered  good  enough  when  she  played  in  the  suburbs, 
had  been  replaced  by  an  elegant  mantle  from^the  Magasin 
de  Louvre,  and  her  cotton  dress,  by  a  superb  silk  costume. 

Certainly  Arthur  had  nothing  to  do  with  this  change, 
for  he  never  spent  anything  on  his  lady  loves,  and  thai  > 
Juliet  knew  wellj,  but  Cornelian,  who  had  for  the  past  year 
been  sharing  the  profits  of  the  menagerie,  coidd  afford  to 
dispense  with  •  funds  from  her  lovers.  What  could  she 
want  with  the  Avell-matched  pair  ?  Arthui-  suspected  that 
she  was  going  to  pour  out  the  vials  of  her  jealousy  on  his 
head,  and  Juliet  feared  that  this  tanaer  of  savage  beasts  <:> 
was  about  to  scratch  out  her  ejes.  And  yet  the  ladies 
had  parted  on  the  best  of  tenns;  after  the  performance, 
when  Arthur  had  received  his  box  on  the  ear,  Cornelian 
had  asked  Juliet  for  Ceorge's  address,  which  had  been 
given,  but  the  matter  had  ended  there,  and  to-day  the  wind 
might  be  in  *pothef  quarter.  She  felt,  however,  more 
comfortable  when  Cornehan  came  up'  to  her  with  a  smile 
on  her  face.      - 

Good  day,  my  dears,"  began  the  tamer  of  animals,  who 
was  perfectly  free  from*  all  prejudice.  "It  seems  that 
you  are  still  together,  and  I  am  delighted,  for  I  wanted 
to  see  you  both,  and  since  I  have  met  you  I  can  kill  two 
birds  with  one  stoae.  But  we  cannot  talk  _  here  because 
of  all  the  carriages.  Shall  we  walk  np  to  the  Arch  of 
Triumph  ?  "  Arthur  and  Juliet  followed  her,  wondering 
much  what  she  c3uld  have  to  say  to  them,  and  the  con- 
versation commenced  under  that  magnificent  monument 
raised   in  commemoration   of  the  glory  of  the  French 


THE  felon's  bequest.  97 

Army.  "  My  boy,"  began  Cornelian,  "you  know  that  we  have 
always  been  good  Mends.  I  had  a  weakness  for  you 
once,  but  that  is  over  and  past,  and  I  congratulate  you 
on  your  friend  here,  who  is  really  charming." 

Juliet,  who  was  much  flattered,  smiled  amiably. 

"  And  she  was  quite  right  to  take  up  with  you,  for 
you  were  always  a  pretty  fellow." 

It  was  now  Arthur's  turn  to  bow  his  thanks ;  but  both 
he  and  Juliet  asked  themselves:  "What  can  she  be  driving 
at? 

"And  so,"  continued  the  Lion  Queen,  "  I  thought  that 
you  would  not  refuse  to  aid  me  in  revenging  myself  on 
an  insolent  hound,  who  has  behaved  ill  to  me,  and  whom 
you  both  know;  I  mean  George  Cransac." 

'  •  George  Cransac ! "  cried  Arthur  and  Juliet  in 
chorus. 

"  The  same.  You,  my  dear  girl,  he  has  thrown  up  in 
a  most  shabby  manner,  and  you,  Arthm-,  he  has  slapped 
in  public.  He  fetched  me  awfully.  I  don't  attempt  to 
hide  it  from  you  since  you  were  at  the  menagerie  that 
evening.  I  made  an  appointment  for  him  yesterday 
night,  after  the  performance,  and  my  gentleman  never 
turned  up.  Such  a  thing  has  never  happened  to  me 
before,  and  shall  never  again;  but  for  all  that  I  will 
make  him  remember  his  ti*eatment  of  me." 

"  Pooh,"  returned  Arthur.  "  He  is  in  an  awful  hole, 
and  you  had  better  leave  him  there.  What  can  you  do 
with  a  man  who  has  just  come  out  of  Mazas,  and  who 
may  go  back  there  any  morning  ?  I  could  not,  of  course, 
condescend  to  go  out  with  him." 

"  And  for  my  part,"  added  Juliet,  "  I  care  no  more  for 
him  than  I  do  for  the  first  pair  of  boots  I  ever  had.  You 
saw  how  I  treated  him,  and  if  I  may  give  you  a  bit  of 
advice  it  is,  do  the  same.  Out  at  elbows  fellows  like  that 
don't  deserve  that  a  woman  should  occupy  herself  about 
them." 

"  Out  at  elbows  he  is  not,  for  he  has  come  into  a 
fortune." 

"Since  when?** 

"  Since  last  week.  A  journalist  who  knows  both  of  us, 
told  me  so;  but  it  is  all  the  same  to  me  whether  he  had 
money  or  not.  It  is  the  man  I  want,  and  I  know  why  he 
won't  have  anything  to  do  with  me;  it  is  because  he  has 


98  THE  felon's  bequest. 

got  a  mistress,  a  minx,  who  is  not  to  be  compared  to  me, 
and  it  is  through  her  that  I  will  be  revenged  on  him." 

"  What  a  fresh  mistress ! "  murmured  Juliet,  who 
immediately  began  to  regret  having  broken  with  George 
now  that  she  heard  he  was  rich  once  more. 

"  Goliath  was  on  the  scout  and  saw  her  yesterday  with 
him.  GoHath  is  the  chap  that  cleans  out  my  lions'  cages, 
a  brute  who  is  in  love  with  me,  but  he  ran  them  both  to 
earth;  and  now  that  I  know  where  the  jade  Hves,  I  am 
only  longing  to  think  how  I  can  pay  her  off.  I  always 
come  back  to  the  same  idea,  of  laying  my  whip  about  her 
ears  at  the  first  opportunity,  and  you  can  make  that 
opportunity  for  me." 

"  The  idea  is  an  excellent  one,"  sneered  Arthur,  "  only 
I  don't  see  how  I  and  Juliet  can  help  you." 

"  In  this  way,  I  want  to  get  her  into  some  quiet  spot, 
where  I  can  thrash  her  at  my  leisure,  and  Goliath  can't 
do  the  job  for  me,  because  she  noticed  that  he  was  fol- 
lowing her,  and  may  distrust  him.  But  you  can  do  it; 
she  doesn't  know  you;  and  if  you  ask  her  under  some 
pretext  or  other  to  meet  you  some  evening  in  a  lonely 
part  of  the  town " 

"  That  won't  act,"  said  Arthur. 

"  No,  not  if  I  try  it  on,  for  she  may  think  that  you  are 
after  her,  but  if  Madame  Juliet  would  consent." 

"  A  nasty  job,"  muttered  Juliet,  who  felt  no  inclination 
to  compromise  herself  for  nothing. 

"  And,  besides,  what  good  will  it  do  ?  You  will  have 
the  satisfaction  of  horsewhipping  her,  but  it  may  cost 
you  dear;  if  you  were  caught  in  the  act  you  might  get 
more  than  you  bargained  for,  and  Cransac  would  only  be 
the  fonder  of  her  because  of  the  ill-treatment  she  had  re- 
ceived at  your  hands." 

"  Would  he ?"  said  Cornelian,  with  an  evil  smile.  "I 
do  my  work  thoroughly,  so  much  so  that  she  wouldn't 
care  so  show  herself  afterwards.  I'd  mark  her  face, 
break  one  or  two  of  her  teeth,  and  certainly  knock  out 
one  eye." 

"You  always  go  in  for  gentle  measures,  the  same  as 
you  deal  out  to  your  lions.  But  I  know  a  better  means 
of  making  George  disgusted  with  -  — " 

•'  Wliat  is  that  ?  " 

**  Get  her  another  lover." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  99 

"  It  is  no  go  witii  that  cue.  Goliath  has  made  enqui- 
ries in  the  crib  where  she  lives.  She  is  a  real  prude,  and 
Cransac  is  the  only  man  she  has  been  seen  with." 

"  Where  does  she  live  ?  "  asked  Juliet,  who  had  half  an 
idea  that  she  was  about  to  make  an  unexpected  find. 
The  snare  which  she  and  her  base  lover  were  about  to 
set  for  Gecile  Cambremer  might  serve  to  entrap  another 
youn,^  girl,  as  long  as  she  was  as  pretty  as  the  florist, 
and  she  saw  her  way  to  opening  a  fresh  negotiation  with 
Simaucas,  who  was  fond  of  change.  In  setting  the  first 
she  ouly  hoped  to  gain  a  heavy  commission  on  the 
shame  fid  transactions,  by  the  ruin  of  a  young  girl,  to 
which  project  Arthur  was  prepared  to  lend  himself, 
■with  the  most  cold-blooded  infamy;  but  she  never  for  a 
moment  thought  that  in  throwing  Cecile  into  the  arms  of 
Situaucas  she  was  dealing  a  fatal  blow  to  George's  new 
born  love. 

"  Why  should  I  tell  you,  if  you  are  not  going  to  help 
me?"  asked  Cornelian. 

"  Tell  me,  at  anj-  rate,  and  we  will  see  what  we  can  do 
afterwards,"  said  Juliet. 

"  Well,  then,  she  lives  at  Belleville." 

"At  Belleville  !  "  repeated  Juliet,  in  astonishment. 

"Yes;  Avenue  de  Laumiere,  close  to  the  Parkof Buttes 
Chaumont,  a  famous  spot  in  which  to  give  the  jade  a 
sound  hiding." 

"  What  does  she  do  for  a  living  ? "  asked  Arthur, 
quickly. 

"  She  pretends  to  be  an  artificial  flower  maker  to  con- 
ceal her  real  game;  but  I'll  lay  one  of  my  best  lions 
against  a  street  cat  that  she  has  her  little  sprees  on 
the  sly.  Cambremer  is  her  name,  Cecile  Cambremer;  but 
what  is  the  matter  with  you  two  that  you  are  staring  so 
at  each  other  ?  " 

The  two  accomplices  had  settled  the  matter  with  a 
glance. 

"  You  wish  to  revenge  yourself  on  the  girl  ? "  said 
Juliet. 

"  Yes,  and  sharp  too." 

"  Well,  you  can  do  so.  Your  revenge  is  already,  and  I 
have  prepared  it  for  you." 

"Then  you  know  this  Cecile ?"  asked  Corneliau  lU 
astonishment. 


100  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  Yes;  and  now  listen:  I  am  going  to  play  the  hussy  a 
trick  that  will  disgust  Cransac  with  her  forever  and  a 
day." 

"  But  that  won't  prevent  my  giving  her  a  thrashing, 
will  it?" 

"  Certainly,  it  would  spoil  all." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  If  you  spoil  her  looks,  our  gentleman  would  not  care 
about  her." 

'*  Who  is  your  gentleman  ?  " 

"  A  rich  Spaniard,  who  has  bought  her  of  me." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Just  let  me  do  it  my  own  way.  She  will  be  lured  to 
his  house  to-morrow;  and  once  there,  she  will  remain  until 
he  is  tired  of  her.  Cransac  may  look  for  her,  and  if  he 
does  find  her,  it  will  be  there;  and  you  may  be  sure  that 
he  won't  take  up  with  her  again.  The  idiot  is  going  in 
for  virtue  now,  and  after  she  has  passed  a  week  in  th* 
Spaniard's  cage,  he  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
her." 

This  time  Cornelian  could  not  misunderstand  their 
intentions,  and  the  expression  of  her  face  changed.  She 
was  made  of  different  stuff  to  Juliet,  and,  though  both 
passionate  and  vindictive,  and  one  who  would  use  the 
most  violent  measures  against  a  rival,  she  would  never 
have  descended  so  low  as  to  lure  a  girl  into  a  trap  to 
revenge  herself  on  a  faithless  lover.  "  And  is  it  you  ?  " 
asked  she,  "  who  have  hit  on  this  famous  plan  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  flatter  myself  that  it  is  entirely  my  own,"  rephed 
Juliet,  without  flinching. 

"  Then  you  too  must  be  jealous  of  George  Cransac." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it;  and  the  proof  of  it  is  that  I  did  not 
know  that  he  had  anything  to  do  -svith  the  girl." 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  ruin  her  then  ?" 

"  Because  I  shall  find  it  to  my  advantage.  The  Spaniard 
is  very  open  handed." 

At  this  ^ilely  cynical  reply  Cornelian  could  no  longer 
restrain  herself,  and  her  anger  and  disgust  blazed  out. 
"  And  you  too,"  asked  she,  turning  to  Arthur*,  "  are  you 
to  have  a  share  in  this  business  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  "  asked  Juliet's  lover  insolently. 

"  It  is  this  much,  that  I  am  disgusted  with  the  pair  of 


THE  felon's  bequest.  101 

you  and  want  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  your  black-  . 
guardisms." 

"Thank  you !"  exclaimed  Juliet;  "and  so  this  is  your  grat- 
itude for  having  given  you  Cransac's  address  the  night  he 
fetched  you  so  ?  " 

"  I  could  have  done  without  you  then,  and  I  will  take 
good  care  to  do  so  for  the  future.  I'll  have  my  revenge, 
but  I  will  have  it  my  own  way.  I'll  go  and  find  this  woman 
who  has  taken  George  from  me,  and  we  will  have  a  little 
explanation  together.  I  may  break  a  bone  or  two  belong- 
ing to  her,  but,  before  doing  so,  I  will  let  her  know  your 
infernal  plans.     Get  out  of  my  path,  you  reptiles." 

Cornelian  spat  on  the  ground  as  a  sign  of  her  disgust, 
and  stepping  briskly  into  her  cab,  was  driven  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

Those  arches  upon  which  are  carved  the  names  of  the 
battles  won  by  our  brave  soldiers  in  the  time  of  the  First 
Republic  had  doubtless  never  echoed  to  such  a  conversa- 
tion, but  the  Lion  Queen  had  come  out  of  it  with  all  honor. 
Arthur  and  Juhet  remained  where  they  were,  crushed 
down  under  the  contempt  and  the  threats  of  Cornelian, 
who  was  willing  enough  to  kill  her  rival,  but  whose  whole 
Boul  revolted  against  the  idea  of  selling  her. 

"  You  have  made  a  nice  mess  of  it,"  said  Arthur,  roughly. 
"What  need  had  you  to  talk  about  the  Spaniard? " 

"  Who  would  have  supposed  that  this  tamer  of  beasts 
would  have  had  any  scruples  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  have  been  more  careful.  Now,  for 
all  we  know,  she  may  be  against  us,  and  the  whole  thing 
is  upset." 

"  She  may  not  do  so." 

"  Why,  has  she  not  threatened  to  warn  Cecile  ?  and 
she  is  just  the  girl  to  do  it." 

"I  don't  know;  she  may  think  twice  before  she  does 
so.  But  I  wonder  where  Cransac  could  have  met  this 
girl;  not  when  he  was  with  me,  for  he  only  left  me  to 
go  to  the  Stock  Exchange,  or  to  visit  his  clients." 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  since  he  came  out  of  Mazas  he  has 
had  plenty  of  time  to  make  fresh  acquaintances,  especi- 
ally if  he  has  come  into  moKey,  as  this  girl  says  he  has." 

"  Folly !  From  whom  could  he  have  inherited  ?  He 
was  an  illegitimate  child;  he  must  have  stolen  it." 

"  And  it  would  not  be  the  first  time  that  he  did  so,  for, 


102  THE  felon's  bequest. 

as  you  know,  they  quodded  liim  once.  If  he  took  up 
with  Cornelian  it  would  be  a  proper  household,  for  she 
is  a  thief's  child." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  She  told  me  so  herself  once;  indeed,  she  makes  no 
secret  of  it.  Her  father  has  already  done  a  stretch  of 
ten  years,  and  he  won't  be  contented  with  that.  But 
that  is  a  matter  of  no  importance.  The  Simancas  affair 
is  off." 

"  Why  so  ?  CorneHan  won't  be  sufficiently  f  oohsh  to 
go  and  warn  Cecile ;  she  is  more  likely  to  give  her  a  good 
licking  first,  and  you  don't  give  good  advice  to  a  woman 
after  thrashing  her;  besides,  even  if  she  does  mention 
us,  why  should  not  the  plan  succeed  all  the  same  ?  What 
have  I  said,  after  all,  to  Cornelian  ?  That  I  was  going  to 
send  the  girl  to  a  rich  Spaniard,  but  I  did  not  give  his 
name;  then  the  letter  to  her  will  be  signed  by  an  Eng- 
lishwoman, Georgina  Acton.  That  is  all  aiTanged,  and 
the  marquis  has  given  the  necessary  orders  to  his  ser- 
vants. Cecile  wiU  never  guess  that  it  is  a  man  that  is 
waiting  for  her,  and  she  will  walk  straight  into  the  wolfs 
mouth." 

"  Yes,  after  all  the  thing  may  go,"  murmured  Arthur. 

"  It  is  a  dead  certainty,  my  dear,  but  we  must  act  at 
once;  in  order  to  succeed  there  should  be  no  delay." 

"  And,  as  you  wish  to  save  your  house,  you  must  be 
quick;  but  the  execution  has  been  terribly  talked  of,  and 
I  doubt  whether  your  hidalgo  will  help  you  out  of  the 
mess.     How  much  do  you  owe,  without  any  nonsense  ?  " 

"About  thirty  thousand  francs;  but  I  don't  expect  to 
get  that  out  of  him.  He  might  buy  the  house  and  fur- 
niture to  give  this  girl.  I  made  the  proposition  to  him, 
but  he  did  not  bite  at  once." 

"  When  I  shall  have  once  got  a  footing  in  his  house, 
things  will  change." 

"  He  will  see  you  to-morrow  morning  at  eleven." 

"  I  will  go;  but  now  let  us  get  home,  to  write  the  note 
for  Mile.  Cambremer.  You  shall  write  from  my  dicta- 
tion, and  I  will  correct  the  faults  of  spelling.  Without 
my  help  you  wordd  do  all  sorts  of  foolish  things;  but  I 
know  the  English  style  of  letter-writing,  and  I'll  wager 
what  you  like  that  the  little  girl  will  be  taken  in." 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  afterwards  these  reptiles,  as 


THE  felon's  bequest.  103 

Cornelian  so  truly  called  them,  bad  completed  their 
work;  and  nothing  but  a  miracle  could  save  the  unfortu- 
nate Cecile. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A   FORCED   SALK. 

At  the  very  hour  when  Arthur  and  his  vile  companion 
■were  plotting  against  Cecile,  George  Cransac  was  making 
hia  way  towards  Montmartre. 

He  had  passed  a  terrible  night,  and  was  now  making 
his  way  thither  in  spite  of  his  better  self.  He  had  returned 
to  his  rooms  at  the  Grand  Hotel  as  the  day  was  breaking, 
with  misery  and  despair  tugging  at  his  heart-strings, 
and,  after  vain  efforts  to  sleep,  had  at  last  fallen  into  a 
troubled  slumber,  the  slumber  of  a  ruined  gamester, 
whose  rest  is  troubled  by  dreams  of  his  disaster.  This 
was  not  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had  lost  all  his 
ready  money  at  play;  but  he  had  up  to  this  time  easily 
consoled  himself.  He  then  had  an  established  business, 
and  the  brokerages  which  he  received  were  always  suffi- 
cient to  cover  his  losses;  and  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  live 
more  cheaply  for  the  coming  month.  Accustomed  to  live 
from  day  to  day,  he  occupied  himself  very  little  with  the 
future.  But  now  his  position  was  no  longer  the  same, 
for  the  embarrassment  into  which  his  own  folly  had 
placed  him,  had  made  a  complete  alteration  in  his  designs. 
He  was  compelled  to  make  use  of  the  money  which  he 
had  sworn  never  to  touch,  in  order  to  extricate  himself 
from  his  difficulties,  and  to  keep  up  the  farce  of  being  a 
wealthy  man  in  spite  of  his  wishes  to  the  contrary. 

What  would  Valbrtc  say  if  his  friend  George  went  and 
told  him  that  his  anonymous  benefactor  had  changed  his 
mind,  and  that  the  sum  to  his  credit  in  the  London  bank 
was  no  longer  available  ?  He  would  have  certainly 
believed,  and  with  justice,  that  the  pretended  legacy  had 
never  existed,  and  would  have  broken  off  all  relations 
with  a  man  whom  he  had  so  warmly  defended  on  his  dis- 
charge from  Mazas,  but  who  had  now  been  detected  in  an 
infamous  falsehood;  and  George,  deprived  of  the  only 
backer  he  had,  would  have  had  nothing  more  to  look 


104.  THE  felon's  bequest. 

forward  to.  He  bad  counted  on  journalism  as  a  means  of 
existence,  but  wbat  paper  would  accept  bis  services,  if 
bis  only  friend  refused  to  8j)eak  for  bim?  He  migbt 
tbink  bimself  lucky  if  tbe  story  of  bis  losses  at  cards, 
wbicb  migbt  be  mentioned  in  several  quarters,  did  not 
arouse  tbe  suspicions  of  tbe  police,  wbo  migbt  still  be 
keeping  an  eye  on  bim. 

Tbe  lot  bad  been  cast,  and  George  must  fulfill  bis 
destiny  to  tbe  bitter  end.  He  bad  also  lied  to  Cecile  Cam- 
bremer,  in  telling  ber  tbat  be  was  not  ricb;  but  sbe  would, 
doubtless,  pardon  bim  for  baving  deceived  ber,  wben  be 
bad  proved  to  ber  tbat  be  loved  ber  as  sbe  wisbed  to  be 
loved.  Sbe  bad  consented  to  tbe  trial,  wbicb  be  bad 
bimself  proposed,  and  it  was  to  commence  tbat  day. 
Tbere  was  no  longer  any  time  to  besitate,  for  be  had 
promised  to  settle  bis  debt  witbin  twenty -four  bours,  and 
be  bad  resolved  not  to  wait  until  nigbt  to  draw  again  on 
tbe  con-sict's  board.  Tbe  bouse  in  tbe  Rue  Gabrielle 
was  a  lonely  spot  even  in  tbe  daytime,  and  be  boped  to 
run  less  risk  in  opening  tbe  biding-place  in  tbe  daytime, 
tban  by  tbe  ligbt  of  a  lantern,  wbicb  migbt  betray  bis 
presence.  He  bad  been  in  tbe  deserted  bouse  before  at 
two  in  tbe  morning,  and  bad  found  no  one  tbere,  and 
be  boped  tbat  be  would  bave  tbe  same  good  fortune 
tbis  time;  and  tbat  after  having  filled  bis  pockets 
he  migbt  change  tbe  gold  into  notes,  and  pay  the 
five  thousand  francs  which  were  still  due  to  the 
advertisement  agent.  Tbe  coldness  of  tbe  atmosphere 
had  increased  since  tbe  previous  nigbt,  and  tbe  streets  in 
tbe  neighborhood  of  tbe  Rue  Gabrielle  were  less  fre- 
quented tban  ever,  but  wben  he  arrived  before  the  gate 
of  tbe  uncultivated  garden,  be  was  disagreeably  surprised 
at  seeing  on  the  slope  two  gentlemen  in  earnest  conver- 
sation, whilst  they  were  at  tbe  same  time  watching  a  man 
wbo  was  measuring  the  ground  with  a  survej'or's  chain. 
Their  backs  were  turned  to  Cransac,  wbo  was  therefore  able 
to  remain,  unseen,  glued  to  the  spot  with  surprise  and  hor- 
ror at  the  sight  of  what  was  going  on.  There  was  no 
mistaking  what  they  were  about.  Wben  a  property  is 
being  measured,  something  is  going  to  be  done  with  it; 
no  doubt  tbe  little  estate  would  be  sold,  and  then  tbe 
house  would  certainly  be  pulled  down,  for  it  was  in  too 
dilapidated  a  state  to  be  worth  repairing,  and  then,  as 


THE  felon's  bequest.  105 

soon  as  the  sale  had  been  concluded,  the  purchaser  would 
certainly  surround  it  by  a  strong  hoarding,  which  would 
shut  out  all  trespassers,  himself  included.  Then  farewell 
to  the  treasure  !  The  masons  who  pulled  down  the  walls 
would  assuredly  come  across  it,  and  meantime  it 
would  be  impossible  for  George  to  get  at  it,  unless  indeed 
he  lost  not  a  moment  in  commencing  operations.  He  could 
not  get  into  the  house  at  once,  as  it  was  now  occupied, 
but  he  hoped  that  work  would  not  begin  on  that  very  day, 
nor  even  on  the  next  one,  and  that  he  would  have  three 
or  four  nights  in  which  to  remove  his  gold  before  the 
pickaxes  of  the  workmen  demoHshed  the  famous  mantel- 
piece. He  had  a  good  mind  to  make  some  enquiries  now 
as  to  the  ultimate  destination  of  the  old  building  from  the 
present  visitors,  one  of  whom  might  be  the  proprietor; 
but  it  would  be  necessary  to  find  some  pretext  for  accost- 
ing them,  and  the  most  simple  was  to  present  himself  as  a 
purchaser  in  search  of  a  suitable  plot  of  ground.  Only 
he  did  not  think  it  advisable  to  speak  to  them  across  the 
wall,  and  judged  that  it  would  be  better  to  wait  until 
they  came  out  after  finishing  what  they  were  about. 
They  seemed  in  no  hurry,  neither  did  the  man  with  the 
chain,  and  they  continued  talking  in  a  sufficiently  loud 
tone  for  Cransac  to  hear  what  they  said: 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  one,  "I  much  fear  that  you 
will  do  no  good;  we  may  repair  and  patch  up  as  much  as 
we  can,  but  the  place  will  be  deuced  hard  to  sell." 

"  I  know  that,"  replied  the  other;  "  it  would  not  suit  a 
business  man,  nor  a  tradesman,  but  it  would  be  just  the 
thing  for  some  rich,  eccentric  fellow  with  lots  of  money, 
who  wished  to  have  the  finest  view  of  Paris  from  his 
window;  and,  I  think,  I  have  found  my  man  I  " 

"  Has  he  seen  the  place  ?  " 

"  Not  yet;  I  want  to  make  it  look  a  little  tidy  before  I 
show  it  to  him." 

"  And  will  this  mug  that  you  have  raked  up  build,  do 
you  think  ?  " 

"Of  course  he  will;  and  you,  friend  Thomas,  shall  be 
his  architect,  and  buUd  him  a  charming  little  villa  in  the 
style  of  Louis  XIII.,  which  shall  cost  you  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs,  and  you  shall  give  him  an  esti- 
mate for  two  hundred  thousand,  and  pocket  the  difference." 


106  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  That  will  suit  me  down  to  the  ground;  and  what  will 
you  make  out  of  it,  old  man  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  shall  finger  a  good  commission  on  the  sale  of 
the  property.  The  cloth  manufacturer  who  owns  it  got 
it  from  a  bankrupt  debtor,  and  has  never  had  a  sou  from 
it  since  it  came  into  his  hands,  and  he  would  willingly 
sell  it  for  ten  thousand;  so  that,  if  I  can  get  forty  or  fifty 
for  it,  he  will  share  the  surplus  with  me." 

"  Good  business  that !  "  exclaimed  the  architect.  ' '  I 
am  not  surprised  at  your  being  in  a  hurry  to  conclude 
the  sale." 

"  I  have  fvdl  power  to  put  the  grounds  in  order;  and 
after  the  sale,  I  shall  get  all  my  out-of-pocket  expenses. 
The  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  jduU  down  the  house, 
which  is  fast  falling  to  ruin,  and  that  won't  cost  much. 
It  looks  as  if  you  could  send  it  to  the  ground  with  a 
breath." 

Cransac  was  horrified.  This  speculator  was,  without 
any  further  delay,  going  to  puU  down  this  mass  of  red 
brickwork,  which  rose  up  from  the  garden,  and  he  had 
only  one  night  in  which  to  empty  the  hiding-place.  He 
was  about  to  leave  the  spot  for  a  time,  when  he  heard  a 
name  that  was  familiar  to  him: 

"  You  may  rely  on  me,  my  dear  Lourdier,"  said  the 
man  who  had  been  addressed  as  the  architect. 

Lourdier  was  the  advertising  contractor  who  had  been 
one  of  the  guests  at  Brebant's,  and  to  whom  George 
Cransac  owed  five  thousand  francs.  Chance  had  brought 
him  face  to  face  mth  his  creditor  at  the  very  moment 
when  he  was  in  search  of  the  money  to  pay  him  with. 
And -this  very  money  was  concealed  in  the  house,  and 
inaccessible  to  him  for  the  moment.  From  this  point  of 
view,  the  meeting  was  a  disagreeable  one,  but  in  com- 
pensation, George  had  learned  the  destined  fate  of  the 
ruined  house,  which  might  be  of  service  to  him. 

At  this  moment  the  two  men  turned,  and  Lourdier  at 
once  recognized  George.  "  "Well,  this  is  a  strange  chance, 
our  meeting  here  !"  said  the  advertisement  agent,  as  much 
surprised  as  George  was. 

"  I  came  here  for  a  walk,"  stammered  George.  "  After 
sitting  up  all  night,  I  wanted  a  walk  and  some  fresh  air." 

"  The  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  and  you  have 
just  come  across  me  at  the  right  moment/' 


THE  felon's  bequest.  107 

"  Not  quite ;  for  after  my  walk  I  intended  to  go  to  my 
banker,  draw  the  money  I  owe  you,  and  call  at  your 
house." 

"  Don't  speak  of  that,  my  dear  fellow;  we  shall  always 
be  coming  across  each  other,  and  you  can  pay  me  when 
you  like.  But  this  is  an  excellent  opportunity  for  finish- 
ing the  business  that  I  spoke  of  to  you  yesterda;^  at  din- 
ner." 

"  What  business  ?"  asked  George,  who  naturally  did 
not  wish  Lourdier  to  know  that  he  had  overheard  the  con- 
versation between  him  and  the  architect,  as  in  it  they  had 
spoken  of  him  as  a  dupe,  and  exposed  their  hands. 

"  What,"  returned  Lourdier,  "  have  you  already  forgot- 
ten the  bit  of  land  of  which  I  spoke  to  you  ?  Well,  this 
is  it  !" 

"  What  ? — this  place,  all  covered  with  brambles  ?  " 

"It  will  be  aU  cleared  away  in  two  days,  and  the  build- 
ing you  see  there  wiU  have  disappeared  next  week.  But 
come  in;  we  can  talk  better  then." 

Cransac  pushed  open  the  gate,  and  then,  pointing 
towards  Paris,  he  remarked:  "The  first  look  leaves  much 
to  be  desired,  but  the  view  is  grand.  On  a  clear  day  one 
ought  to  be  able  to  see  the  heights  of  Chatillon." 

"  And  the  Hills  of  Meudon,  too — a  perfect  panorama, 
my  dear  fellow;  and  for  all  that  you  have  to  pay  a  mere 
nothing !  " 

"  Yes,  the  land  can't  be  worth  more  than  twenty  or  five 
and  twenty  thousand  francs,"  said  George,  who,  now  that 
he  knew  what  arrangements  Lourdier  contemplated  mak- 
ing, was  able  to  act  adroitly.  "  But  then  I  should  have 
to  build. 

"  For  a  hundred  thousand  francs  my  friend  Thomas,  to 
whom  I  beg  to  introduce  you,  will  build  you  a  little  house 
in  which  you  can  live  like  a  prince,  and  that  will  be  much 
better  than  succeeding  Juliet  Taupier  in  her  little  box  of 
a  house  in  the  Rue  Jouffroy." 

•'  M.  Thomas  is  an  architect,  I  presume,"  said  George, 
who  wished  to  continue  to  play  the  part  of  having  heard 
nothing  of  the  preceding  conversation. 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  member  of  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts.  If 
the  land  suits  you,  I  advise  you  to  lose  no  time  in  secur- 
ing it,  for  a  purchaser  may  make  his  appearance  any  day. 


108  THE  felon's  bequest. 

They  are  asking  forty-five  thousand  for  it,  but  I  think 
that  I  could  get  it  for  less  for  you." 

George  paused  before  rej^lying,  for  an  idea  had  flashed 
across  his  brain.  The  simplest  means  of  securing  the 
propez'ty  would  be  to  become  the  purchaser.  When  this 
was  once  completed,  no  mason  could  strike  a  blow  witli 
his  pickaxe  without  his  permission,  and  if  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  demolish  the  existing  building  in  order  to 
erect  another,  it  would  not  be  until  he  had  transferred 
his  gold  to  some  safer  hiding-place.  There  would  be  no 
difficulty  about  the  jsayment,  for  in  the  transfer  of  real 
estate  it  was  not  a  matter  of  cash  down,  and  all  that  he 
had  need  of  was  twenty -four  hours  in  which  to  make  a 
nocturnal  visit  to  the  treasure,  and  to  take  away  sufficient 
to  pay  a  sum  on  account,  or,  if  necessary,  the  full  amount. 
Later  on,  when  he  had  settled  matters,  and  was  master 
of  the  place,  he  could  act  without  hindrance,  and  could 
wall  up  the  grounds  against  nocturnal  intruders.  Just 
now  what  he  had  to  find  out  was  with  whom  to  treat,  and 
what  the  conditions  would  be,  for  Lourdier  was  evidently 
only  an  intermediary,  and  the  conversation  that  he  Lad 
heard  between  the  two  men  had  not  given  him  any  real 
idea  of  the  right  value  of  the  property. 

"  Forty -five  thousand  francs,"  said  he,  after  a  pause, 
"  is  much  too  dear." 

"  Let  us  say  forty  thousand,"  said  Lourdier  eagerly . 

"  We  are  a  long  way  yet  from  the  pi'ice  that  I  should 
pay.  I  might,  perhaps,  go  as  far  as  thii-ty  thousand, 
but—" 

"But  what?" 

"  I  have  not  this  sum  at  my  immediate  disposal." 

"  Is  that  all  that  makes  you  hesitate  ?  As  long  as  the 
vendor  gets  a  third  upon  the  day  on  which  you  sign  the 
deed,  he  will  give  you  every  facility  for  the  payment  of 
the  balance.  You  shall  fix  the  terms  of  payment  j-our- 
self.  He  is  a  rich  man,  and  consequently  in  no  hurry  to 
realize,  and  is  only  anxious  to  get  rid  of  a  property 
that  has  brought  him  nothing  since  it  came  into  his 
hands." 

"  Then  why  the  deuce  did  he  buy  it?" 

"  He  did  not  buy  it.  It  came  to  him  as  the  result  of  a 
liquidation,  by   which   he   lost  a  great   deal   of  money. 


THE  felon's  bequest.  109 

There  was  a  Parisian  banker  in  it,  who  was  a  sleeping 
partner  with  him,  and  who  failed  one  day." 

"  And  what  did  the  banker  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  On  my  word,  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  it  served  him 
for  a  park  and  country  house.  He  most  likely  spent  his 
Sundays  there.  At  any  rate  he  was  not  a  Rothschild,  and 
he  blew  out  his  brains  when  he  found  that  he  was 
ruined." 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard,  or  if  I  did  I  have  forgotten  it.  It  is 
such  an  old  story.  The  actual  owner  may  be  able  to  tell 
you  something  about  him  if  you  are  anxious  to  hear 
about  him,  but  I  suppose  that  you  are  not  much  interested 
in  the  matter  ?  " 

"Ob,  no;  not  a  bit,"  answered  George,  who  had  been 
thinking  of  the  father  of  Cecile  Cambremer,  who  had 
killed  himself  when  he  discovered  that  he  was  ruined. 
The  thought  that  she  might  have  come  to  the  house  in  which 
she  formerly  Hved  to  commit  suicide  had  lingered  for  an 
instant  in  Greorge's  imagination,  but  he  had  dismissed  it 
at  once  as  preposterous  and  absurd. 

'•  Well,  have  you  made  up  your  mind  ?  "  asked  Lourdier. 
"  I  press  you,  because  I  think  that  the  purchase  would  be 
an  advantageous  one  for  you,  and  also  because  I  am 
anxious  to  know  what  I  have  to  ^do.  I  must  have  the 
workpeople  here  to-morrow  to  pull  that  old  ruin  down, 
and. to  cut  paths  through  all  this  jungle,  and  if  you  don't 
intend  to  buy  I  shall  set  them  to  work  to-night.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  you  elect  to  buy,  I  shall  not  send 
either  masons  or  other  workpeople,  unless  indeed  you 
wish  it. 

"  No,"  returned  Cransac,  quickly.  "  If  I  purchase  I 
shaU  not  begin  to  build  until  next  summer,  so  there  will 
be  time  enough  to  clear  away  everything  at  the  end  of 
the  winter." 

"  As  you  like,  my  dear  fellow.  But  just  answer  me 
one  question:  Are  you  going  to  buy  ?  Yes  or  no  ?  You 
just  now  spoke  about  thirty  thousand.  Put  another  five 
to  it,  and  the  place  is  yours." 

"  No,  thirty  thousand;  ten  paid  down,  and  the  balance 
in  two  instalments  at  six  and  twelve  months." 

"  Ah,  I  see  you  understand  business.  I  expect  that 
you  have  done  plenty  in  your  time." 


110  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  Only  for  others;  never  for  myself." 

"Yes,  I  heard  you  were  with  a  stockbroker;  but  now 
you  belong  to  the  paper  for  which  I  work,  though  in  a 
different  line  of  business,  but  when  we  are  in  the  same 
boat  we  must  all  pull  together.  And  so,  my  dear  fellow, 
I  accept  your  offer.  I  will  let  you  have  the  property  for 
thirty  thousand  francs,  though  I  could,  I  am  sure,  have 
sold  it  for  forty  thousand  to  another  party.  I  have  had 
an  offer  of  thirty-five  thousand,  which  I  refused.  And 
now  is  it  settled  ?     If  so,  give  me  your  hand." 

"It  is  settled,"  answered  George,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

"  You  know  that  according  to  the  Code  a  promise  to 
purchase  holds  good.  I  have  full  j)Owers  from  the  owner. 
Will  you  get  over  the  thing  at  once,  and  come  with  me 
to  the  vendor's  notary  ?  We  will  instruct  him  to  prepare 
the  deed  of  sale,  and  you  will  sign  it — when  shall  we 
say?" 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,"  replied  George,  who  wished 
to  have  two  clear  nights  in  which  to  place  himself  in 
funds,  for,  though  the  bank  from  which  he  intended  to 
draw  them  was  close  at  hand,  in  contradistinction  to  the 
usual  run  of  banks  it  did  not  open  until  after  sunset. 

"Very  well,  then,  the  day  after  to-morrow;  and  you 
will  have  to  pay  the  costs  in  addition,  and  expenses  of 
registration." 

"  Which  will  amount  to  how  much,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  M.  Guerin,  the  notary,  will  tell  you  the  exact  amount 
He  lives  close  here,  in  the  Place  Dancourt,  by  the  Mont- 
martre  Theatre.     Shall  we  go  there  now  ?  " 

"  Is  it  absolutely  necessary  that  I  should  go  with  you 
now?" 

"  It  would  be  better;  but  I  rely  upon  your  w^ord,  given 
in  the  presence  of  my  friend  Thomas,  and  can  therefore 
dispense  with  your  attendance  to-day.  The  day  after  to- 
morrow I  shall  expect  you  at  M.  Guerini3  office  between- 
two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  I  don't  remem- 
ber the  number,  but  you  will  see  his  name  on  a  plate  on 
the  door.  Bring  fifteen  thousand  francs  with  you,  and 
that  wiU  leave  an  ample  margin  for  the  costs." 

"  All  right;  and  now  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  leave 
you.  I  am  expected  at  the  other  end  of  Paris,  and  I  see 
that  you  have  not  yet  completed  your  measui'ements." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  Ill 

"I  shall  not  be  long  over  them;  I  only  want  to  know 
the  extent  of  frontage  on  the  Rue  Gabrielle,  and  my  man 
won't  be  more  than  ten  minutes  over  that." 

"  Shall  I  see  you  presently  at  the  office  of  the  paper  ?  " 

"  Most  probably." 

"  Until  then,  my  dear  sir,  good-bye." 

Cransac  shook  hands  with  Lourdier,  although  he  was 
a  person  that  he  had  not  much  liking  for;  then  bowing 
coldly  to  the  architect,  who  was  not  best  pleased  at  find- 
ing all  business  transactions  put  off  until  the  spring, 
took  his  leave,  for  he  felt  the  necessity  of  being  alone, 
to  reflect  at  his  leisure  on  the  new  course  that  affairs  had 
taken. 

In  agreeing  to  purchase  he  had,  as  the  saying  is,  burnt 
his  boats,  and  it  was  impossible  for  him  now  to  draw  back 
from  the  evil  course  into  which  his  losses  at  play  had 
impelled  him.  He  wanted  twenty  thousand  francs  within 
the  next  twenty-four  hours,  merely  to  settle  his  card 
debts,  and  to  pay  the  deposit  on  the  purchase,  and  so  he 
would  have  to  take  away  thirty  thousand  francs  at  his 
next  nightly  visit,  so  as  not  to  leave  himself  penniless  after 
paying  his  debts.  He  had  resolved  not  to  content  him- 
self with  this  only.  He  wanted  to  empty  the  hiding-place 
of  its  last  coin,  so  as  to  see  how  much  he  had  really 
inherited  from  his  neighbor  of  the  exercise-yard  of  Mazas. 
When  he  knew  this  he  could  arrange  his  mode  of  life 
according  to  his  fortune,  and  without  the  slightest  feel- 
ings of  compunction  he  hoped  that  it  might  be  very 
large.  It  is  only  the  first  step  that  is  difficidt,  and  this 
step  had  been  taken  ten  days  back.  Cransac  rather 
liked  the  idea  of  building  on  the  site  of  the  ruined  house 
a  comfortable  villa,  in  which  he  hoped  to  persuade  Cecile 
to  live  with  him,  for  he  had  already  begun  to  feel  the 
extreme  inconvenience  of  having  two  places  of  abode: 
one  in  the  Rue  Frochot,  and  the  other  the  Grand  Hotel. 

Neither  of  these  were  suitable  for  what  he  wanted  just 
now,  a  place  of  safe  deposit  for  a  very  large  sum  of  money, 
and  until  he  should  have  found  a  more  convenient  lodg- 
ing he  saw  that  he  should  be  compelled  to  carry  large 
sums  of  money  about  his  person.  He  knew  that  it  was 
far  from  safe  or  prudent  to  go  about  the  streets  with  his 
pocket  filled  with  gold  or  notes,  and  this  to  a  certain 
extent  spoiled  the  pleasure  he  had  felt  in  knowing  that 


112  THE  felon's  bequest. 

the  house  in  which  his  treasure  was  buried  was  not  to  be 
demolished. 

George  had  not  spoken  falsely  when  he  said  that  he  was 
expected  at  the  other  end  of  Paris,  for  he  had  promised 
to  go  and  see  Cecile  Cambremer  at  Belleville  in  the  after- 
noon, and  the  day  was  getting  on.  He  therefore  made 
all  haste  to  the  Boulevard  de  Clichy,  where  he  could  get 
a  cab  to  take  him  to  the  Avenue  Laumiere;  but  when  he 
found  himself  but  a  few  paces  from  the  Rue  Frochot,  he 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  calling  at  the  porter's 
lodge,  to  see  if  there  was  a  letter  for  him,  and  so  he  made 
his  way  thither,  looking  wearily  round  the  corners,  for  fear 
of  encountering  the  terrible  Cornelian,  or  her  hideous 
assistant,  Goliath. 

It  was  fortunate  for  him  that  he  had  thought  of  going 
home  first,  for  the  porter  handed  him  a  letter  which  the 
postman  had  just  left,  and  on  the  envelope  of  which  he 
recognized  Cecile's  handwriting,  although  he  had  only 
seen  it  once  before.  Lovers  have  always  good  memories. 
On  his  return  from  London,  George  had  not  thought  it 
necessary  to  tell  her  that  he  was  stopping  at  the  Grand 
Hotel,  and  therefore  she  coiild  only  write  to  him  at  the 
address  she  knew,  and  this  was  one  of  the  reasons  that  had 
decided  him  to  call  at  his  own  rooms  before  going  on  to 
Belleville.  The  porter  took  the  opportunity  of  handing  to 
George  the  two  receipts  which  he  had  asked  for  the  day 
before,  but  as  he  had  not  sufficient  money  about  him  to 
settle,  he  had  to  ask  that  they  might  stand  over  until  the 
next  day.  After  making  thia  arrangement,  he  went  away 
to  enjoy  the  letter  from  his  love  in  private.  It  was  a  short 
one,  and  the  contents  siu-prised  him  a  little. 

"  My  friend,"  wrote  the  flowennaker,  "  I  have  the  most 
earnest  wish  to  see  you,  but  I  want  to  sjDare  you  a  useless 
journey.  To-day  I  am  obliged  to  go  out,  and  make 
arrangements  with  an  artificial  flower  merchant,  who 
wishes  to  entrust  me  with  an  important  order.  His  place 
of  business  is  a  long  way  from  where  I  live,  and  I  do  not 
know  at  what  time  I  shall  get  back.  I  am  not  sure  either 
of  seeing  you  to-morrow,  for  orders  are  coming  in  from 
all  sides,  but  I  shall  be  certainly  free  at  six  o'clock,  and  I 
will  keep  my  evening  for  you.  I  will  dine  with  you,  if 
you  like,  and  afterwards  we  can  go  to  the  theatre — never 
mind  to  which  one^  as  I  have  not  seen  any  of  the  pieces 


THE  felon's  bequest.  113 

which  are  being  played  just  now.  You  see  I  treat  you 
like  an  old  friend,  and  yet  we  have  known  each  other  but 
a  short  time,  but  a  feeling  of  affinity  came  over  me  at 
once,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  this  feeling  is  reciprocal. 
I  shall,  therefore,  come  for  you  to  the  Rue  Frochot,  at 
half-past  six  to-morrow.  If  I  put  you  out  in  any  way,  I  beg 
that  you  will  let  me  know;  a  hne  by  post  will  reach  me 
in  time.     If  I  receive  no  reply  I  shall  come." 

The  letter  was  simply  signed  "  Cecile,"  and  there  was 
of  course  a  postscript:  "I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  have 
seen  the  good  woman  you  sent  to  me  and  see  how  well 
chance  sometimes  serves  us,  for  I  found  that  she  knew 
me  when  I  was  a  child.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  when 
I  see  you.  I  have  got  her  some  work,  and  I  hope  that  I 
shall  not  part  with  her  again." 

George  read  and  re-read  this  letter,  which  put  off  the 
first  appointment,  several  times;  and  he  saw  that  Cecile 
was  sincere  in  wishing  to  adjourn  their  meeting  until 
the  next  day.  The  hope  of  passing  a  long  evening  with 
her  compensated  him  for  the  change  in  the  arrange- 
ments, and  in  his  heart  he  was  not  sorry  to  defer  the 
pleasure  for  twenty-four  hours,  for  his  mind  would  be 
more  at  ease  after  the  expedition  which  he  was  about  to 
undertake  that  night  was  over,  as  then  all  his  plans 
would  be  arranged  and  his  projects  settled,  and  he 
could  then  open  his  heart  to  Cecile,  make  arrangements 
for  their  future  hfe,  and  urge  upon  her  that  a  more 
tender  tie  ought  to  unite  them.  He  had  no  need  to 
write  to  her,  as  by  his  silence  he  accepted  the  meeting 
for  the  next  day. 


114:  THE  felon's  bequest. 

CHAPTER    XV. 

"halves." 

NoTHiNa  now  remained  for  Cransac  but  to  make 
arrangements  for  his  second  nocturnal  "visit  to  the  ruined 
house  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle.  He  was  in  haste  to  get  it 
over,  and  he  would  not  have  waited  until  nightfall  had 
he  not  feared  to  find  the  two  men  he  had  met  before 
still  there;  for,  in  spite  of  all  that  Lourdier  had  said,  the 
measuring  might  not  be  over  until  dusk,  and  Cransac 
did  not  at  all  want  to  see  him  that  day.  What  he  had  to 
do  was  to  employ  his  time  in  the  best  manner  that  he 
oould  before  starting  on  his  expedition,  and  he  began  by 
returning  to  the  Grand  Hotel,  to  make  his  preparations 
accordingly,  as  he  wished  to  be  better  prepared  than  he 
had  been  on  the  preceding  visit.  He  had  told  Valbrec 
that  he  would  come  down  to  the  offices  of  the  newspaper 
to  see  him,  but  this  was  an  appointment  that  he  could 
easily  put  off  until  the  next  day.  Privacy  is  best  for 
those  who  have  a  hazardous  undertaking  in  hand,  and 
Cransac  preferred  to  isolate  himself,  to  spending  his 
time  in  idle  conversation.  The  great  point  was  to  make 
his  expedition  as  successful  as  possible,  and,  taught  by 
his  former  experience  he  thought  of  taking  with  him  a 
bag  in  which  he  could  at  one  visit  take  away  a  ]arge  sum 
of  money.  He  ^lad  a  leather  one,  very  large  and  deep, 
furnished  with  a  leather  strap,  to  sling  over  the  shoulder, 
which  he  had  brought  from  England  with  him.  He 
slung  this  on  under  his  great  coat,  and  then  thought  how 
he  could  best  protect  himself  from  other  dangers  which 
might  threaten  him.  On  his  last  expedition  he  had  only 
met  a  helpless  woman,  but  he  might  at  any  moment  find 
himself  face  to  face  mth  some  ill-disposed  man,  and  he 
desired  to  be  in  a  condition  to  defend  himself  in  case  of 
attack.  He  therefore  took  with  him  a  heavily-weighted 
stick,  and  a  six-chambered  revolver,  which  he  carefully 
loaded.  Nor  did  he  forget  a  good  provision  of  matches,  and 
on  leaving  the  hotel,  he  purchased  a  lantern  small  enough 
to  go  into  his  pocket  These  i:)reparations  occupied  him 
until  it  was  the  hour  for  dinner,  which  he  partook  of  in 


THE  PELON's  bequest.  116 

a  third-class  restaurant,  where  he  was  sure  of  not  meet- 
ing anyone  that  knew  him.  He  then  sought  an  unfre- 
quented cafe,  where  he  sat  for  a  long  time  with  a  news- 
paper before  him,  as  a  man  does  whose  mind  is  preoc- 
cupied with  something  else  than  politics  or  literature, 
until  midnight  sounded  from  an  adjacent  belfry. 

The  hour  had  come,  and  taking  a  cab,  he  drove  to  the 
Place  Saint  Pierre.  He  had  chosen  this  route  as  he  knew 
that  the  inhabitants  of  the  Butte  Montmartre  avoided  it 
after  sunset;  but  it  suited  Cransac  to  arrive  at  his  desti- 
nation by  devious  ways,  and  he  wished  to  enter  the  garden 
by  the  flight  of  steps  which  he  had  descended  with  Cecile, 
and  make  his  entry  by  the  side  gate  which  she  had  pointed 
out  to  him.  By  taking  this  route  he  would  Hvoid  the 
thick  vegetation,  and  reach  the  front  door  with  more 
celerity.  As  the  night  was  pretty  clear,  he  was  the  better 
able  to  take  a  view  of  the  surroundings;  he  perceived  that 
the  sloping  garden  had  a  terrace  at  the  end  of  it,  upon 
which  the  house  stood;  but  the  terrace,  like  everything 
else,  was  in  ruins,  and  there  were  large  holes  in  it  where 
the  stones  had  fallen  away,  Avhich  would  serve  as  a  refuge 
for  wanderers  in  search  of  a  shelter.  Cransac  did  not 
lose  any  time  in  exploring  these  lurking  places,  for  he 
rightly  judged  that  those  poor  wretches  who  had  no  home 
would  prefer  a  shelter  in  the  house,  dilapidated  as  it  was, 
to  holes  where  they  would  be  exposed  to  the  night  blasts. 

At  length  he  arrived  at  the  house,  which  he  determined 
to  explore  from  top  to  bottom  before  he  went  to  work. 
He  began  naturally  by  the  chamber  on  the  ground  floor, 
which  he  found  in  the  same  state  as  he  had  left  it.  He 
made  sure  of  this  by  lighting  his  lantern,  and  this  seemed 
a  sign  of  good  omen  for  the  ultimate  success  of  his  expe- 
dition. Then  he  went  up  stairs,  and  inspected  each  story 
successively,  and  found  that  they  had  all  been  undisturbed 
since  his  last  visit.  There  was  the  overturned  brazier, 
and  the  scattered  lumps  of  charcoal  lying  on  the  floor 
where  Cecile  Cambremer  had  endeavored  to  suffocate  her- 
self, but  everything  seemed  to  show  that  no  human  being 
had  been  there  since  his  last  visit  on  that  momentous 
night.  He  came  back  from  his  inspection  completely 
reassured,  and  did  not  lose  a  moment  in  getting  to  work, 
for  he  knew  well  that  the  quicker  he  was,  the  less  risk  he 
should  run  of  being  sui-prised.     He  therefore  placed  his 


116  THE  felon's  bequest. 

hand  on  the  pin,  which  yielded  to  his  first  effort,  because 
it  was  no  longer  encrusted  with  rust.     The  plate  opened, 
and  he  again  saw  the  rolls  of  gold  pieces  wrapped  up  in 
green  paper,  but  he  no  longer  smelt  the  sickening  odor 
which  had  poured  out  the  first  time  that  he  opened  it.    The 
mephitic  vapor  which  had  collected  inside  had  been  dis- 
pelled by  the  fresh  air  during  the  time  that  the  door  of 
the  hiding-place  had  remained  open,  and  it  was  easy  to 
believe  that  if  a  dead  body  had  at  any  time  been  thrown 
down  there,  it  must  by  now  be  reduced  to  a  mere  skele- 
ton.    But  Cransac  thought  of  nothing  but  his  treasure, 
and  cared  little  whether  a  crime  had  been  committed 
or   not  at   some   previous  time  in  the   deserted  house. 
He  picked  up  the  precious  parcel  by  handfuls  without 
counting  them,  and  crammed   them  into  his  bag,   and 
when  that  was  full  he  filled  his  pockets.     He  would  have 
liked  to  have  carried  all  the  treasure  away,  but  beneath 
the  first  layer  he  saw  that  there  were  others,  and  he  would 
have  been  borne  to  the  ground  by  the  weight  of  gold. 
His  load  was  already  as  heavy  as  he  could  bear.     He  was 
about  to  close  the  plate  when,  in  feeling  the  mass  of  par- 
cels for  the  last  time,  his  fingers  encountered  a  soft  flat 
object  which  he  had  some  difficulty  in  disengaging  from 
the  weight  that  pressed  on  it.     It  was  an  immense  pocket- 
book,  such  as  ministers,  barristers   and   bank   cashiers 
carry.     It  was  made  of  black  morocco  leather,  but  the 
copper  lock  was  off,  the  key  had  disappeared,  and  the 
leather  was  battered  and  torn;  on  the  outside  could  still 
be  read  the  letters  B.  and  C,  probable  the  initials  of  the 
capitalist  to  whom  it  formerly  belonged.    Cransac  opened 
it,  and  found  that  it  was  crammed  with  banknotes.     The 
damp  had  stuck  some  of  them  one  against  the  other,  and 
he  dared  not  finger  them  lest  he  should  tear  them  to 
pieces.     This  unexpected  find  was  most  fortunate  for  him, 
for  it  almost  did  away  with  the   necessity   of  making 
another  perilous  trip,  at  least  for  some  time.     He  had 
now  many  hundred  thousand  of  francs,  which  in  their 
present    shape    weighed    less    than    ten    thousand    in 
gold,  and   which   would  cause  him  no  trouble  to  take 
back  to    the  Grand    Hotel,  even    if   he    had    to    walk 
there.     All  that  he  had  to  do  was  to  take  care  not  to  lose 
them  on  the  way,  which  he  would  certainly  have  done 
had  he  placed  the  dilapidated  pocket-book  under  hia 


THE  felon's  bequest.  117 

arm.  As  tlie  best  thing  to  be  done  lie  placed  it  in  his 
breast  between  his  waistcoat  and  his  shirt,  and  buttoned 
it  up  carefully.  After  having  taken  this  precaution  he 
felt  half  inclined  to  throw  the  rolls  of  coin  back  into  the 
hole,  but  he  thought  that  he  was  strong  enough  to  carry 
the  lot,  and  so  he  closed  the  hiding-place,  which  was  still 
half  full.  He  had  had  to  kneel  down  to  extract  his  treas- 
ure, and  when  he  strove  to  rise  to  his  feet,  he  had  great 
difficulty  in  doing  so.  Cransac  was  young  and  vigorous, 
but  he  was  loaded  like  a  mule,  and  his  muscular  shoulders 
trembled  beneath  his  burden.  He  extinguished  his  lan- 
tern, and  put  it  into  the  pocket  with  his  revolver,  grasped 
his  loaded  stick  firmly  in  his  right  hand,  and  turned 
towards  the  door.  He  now  found  himself  opposite  the 
window  from  which  all  the  glass  had  been  broken  away. 
Inside  the  room  the  darkness  was  profound,  but  outside 
it  was  a  little  lighter,  and  on  glancing  in  that  direction 
Cransac  fancied  that  he  saw  a  round  object  showing 
against  the  light,  at  the  height  where  the  lower  panes  of 
glass  had  been,  which  had  something  of  the  appearance 
of  a  human  head.  At  first -he  thought  that  his  eyes  must 
have  deceived  him,  but  the  instant  that  he  made  a  step  for- 
ward, the  object  disappeared,  and  he  heard  a  slight 
sound  such  as  a  man's  feet,  would  make  on  dropping  from 
a  certain  height.  Someone  had  evidently  been  hanging 
on  to  the  window  sash,  and  had  let  go  all  of  a  sudden. 
This  spy  might  enter  at  any  moment  and  attack  George, 
who  accordingly  stood  on  his  defence,  with  his  left  hand 
on  his  revolver,  his  loaded  stick  raised  for  a  blow  in  his 
right,  and  his  face  turned  toward  the  door. 

But  no  one  showed  themselves. 

He  listened,  but  there  was  not  a  sound  in  the  garden. 

Had  the  man  crept  away  with  stealthy  tread,  or  was 
he  lying  in  wait  outside  the  door  ? 

To  know  this  it  was  necessary  to  search  for  him.  One 
thing  was  clear:  the  secret  of  the  hiding-place  had  been 
discovered.  But  by  whom  ?  Probably  by  some  night 
wanderer,  who  would  have  no  scruples  in  coming  back 
and  emptying  it,  and  who,  perhaps,  was  now  meditating 
Cransac's  murder,  in  order  to  rob  him  of  his  booty. 
Whichever  might  be  the  case,  Cransac  could  not  permit 
himself  to  be  besieged  there ;  the  longer  he  waited  the 
more  risk  he  ran,  for  the  man  might  summon  others  to 


118  THE  felon's  bequest. 

help  liim,  and  then  the  odds  would  not  be  in  his  favor, 
whilst,  armed  as  he  was,  he  could  easily  hold  his  own 
against  a  solitary  robber. 

He  resolved  to  leave  the  place  at  once.  He  pulled  the 
door  to  him,  which  opened  inwards,  and  going  out  on  to 
the  step  looked  round  him.  He  could  see  no  one,  and  in 
the  moonlight  a  man  could  have  been  seen  twenty  paces 
off.  The  road  to  the  side  steps  was  therefore  free,  though 
there  was  a  chance  of  the  man  having  hidden  himself  in 
the  brambles,  but  all  George  had  to  do  was  not  to  go  too 
close  to  them.  He  therefore  walked  slowly  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  gate,  weighed  down  by  the  weight  of  his 
load.  He  had  strong  arms,  good  legs,  and  clear  sight; 
the  gate  by  which  he  had  come  in  was  not  far  off,  and 
he  hoped  to  reach  it  without  any  accident,  and  he 
believed  that  he  had  hot  much  to  fear  when  he  was  once 
outside  the  garden.  Night  is  very  lonely  in  that  deserted 
quarter,  but  still  there  were  people  about,  and  when  the 
cry  of  "  murder  "  or  "  fire  "  is  raised,  the  sleepers  awake 
from  their  slimibers,  and  the  guardians  of  the  peace 
interfere — at  least  sometimes.  •  On  the  outer  boulevards, 
the  cafes  remain  open  all  the  year  round  until  two  in  the 
morning;  and  dui'ing  the  fair  at  Montmartre  everyone  is 
about — the  mountebanks  jDerform,  the  drums  are  beaten, 
the  trumpets  peal,  the  wooden  horses  go  round  to  the 
sound  of  music,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  this  turmoil  and 
crowd  even  pickpockets  find  it  difficult  to  exercise  their 
profession.  All,  then,  that  G-eorge  had  to  do  was  to  get 
that  far,  so  as  to  be  in  safety  from  any  attack,  and  then 
to  take  a  cab  to  the  Grand  Hotel.  At  two  paces  from 
the  gate,  when  he  thought  that  tlie  worst  was  over, 
Cransac  saw  a  shadowy  form  rise  before  him,  Avhich 
seemed  to  have  sprung  out  of  the  wall. 

"  Halves  !  "  cried  a  guttural  voice,  and  at  the  same 
instant  he  felt  a  heavy  blow  on  his  chest.  He  stepped 
backwards,  but  at  the  moment  when  his  adversary  was 
about  to  repeat  the  blow,  he  struck  him  heavily  over  the 
head  with  his  loaded  stick.  The  man  fell  like  a  logf,  and 
Cransac,  stepping  back,  prepared  to  defend  himself 
against  any  new  opponent,  or  in  case  the  fallen  man 
should  attempt  to  r§new  the  attack;  but  he  showed  no 
sign  of  life,  and  lay  perfectly  still,  witla  his  anns  extended. 
Cransac,  who  had  lost  neither  his  equilibrium  or  his  cool- 


THE  felon's   BEQUES5'.  Il9 

ness,  pushed  him  with  his  foot,  so  as  to  be  certain  that 
he  was  not  in  a  condition  to  renew  the  attack,  and  find- 
ing that  he  did  not  stir,  was  about  to  proceed  on  his 
way,  when  the  idea  struck  him  that  he  might  as  well 
look  what  sort  of  a  man  his  assailant  was.  "  Halves  !  " 
was  what  the  wretch  had  cried  out  as  he  rushed  upon 
him.  He  was  therefore  aware  that  Cransac  had  money 
about  him.  Did  he  know  this  because  he  had  watched 
him  helping  himseK  to  the  treasure,  or  because  he  had 
been  previously  made  acquainted  with  its  existence  ? 
Had  the  prisoner  of  Mazas,  after  George's  dischargQ> 
taken  anyone  else  into  his  confidence  ?  Did  one  of  his 
former  accomplices  know  the  secret  of  the  hiding-place, 
and  had  he  come  there  to  empty  it  and  foiind  Cransac 
at  work?  Any  of  these  conjectures  were  possible. 
Without  leaving  go  of  his  revolver,  Cransac  turned  the 
man  over  on  to  his  back  without  his  exhibiting  any 
signs  of  life.  The  blow  of  the  loaded  stick  appeared 
to  have  fractured  his  skull,  and  it  seemed  doubtful  if 
he  would  get  over  it,  though  he  still  breathed.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  torn  blouse,  and  a  tattered  pair  of 
trousers,  with  heavy  shoes,  and  one  of  those  rough 
caps  so  much  affected  by  the  roughs  of  the  lowest 
class.  As  far  as  Cransac  could  make  out  in  the  half- 
obscurity  that  reigned,  his  features  did  not  belie  his 
dress,  and  he  looked  like  one  of  those  miserable  scoun- 
drels who  live  on  the  precarious  earnings  of  the  unfortunate 
women  who  ply  their  trade  beyond  the  barriers.  He  was 
a  young  man,  not  more  than  twenty-five  years  of  age. 
The  blood  from  his  wound  had  spread  over  his  convulsed 
features,  and  his  eyes  which  were  wide  open,  had  no  ex- 
pression in  them.  It  would  have  been  useless  to  ques- 
tion him,  and  if  he  was  not  already  dead  he  was  nearly 
so.  But  the  question  that  Cransac  asked  himself  was, 
should  he  let  him  lie  there  ?  If  he  did  so,  the  police 
when  they  found  his  body  would  certainly  cause  an  in- 
quiry to  be  made.  They  might  not  find  the  murderer, 
but  in  searching  the  house  they  might  discover  the  hid- 
ing-place. Cransac  at  first  thought  of  dragging  the 
body  to  the  public  flight  of  steps  close  at  hand,  but  he 
could  not  bear  the  idea  of  lifting  it.  "  After  all," 
thought  he,  "  it  matters  very  little  whether  the  police 
put  their  hands  on  the  money,"  as  he  had  no  more  need 


120        THE  felon's  bequest. 

to  return  there  to  supply  himself  with  gold,  or  whether 
they  would  consider  the  murder  as  having  been  com- 
mitted in  a  street  row  by  a  ruffian  of  a  similar  stamp;  in 
which  case  the  inquiry  would  not  be  a  long  one.  He 
saw  now  that  the  fellow,  after  having  quitted  his  post  of 
observation,  had  hidden  himself  in  one  of  the  hollows  of 
the  wall  of  the  terrace,  to  spring  out  on  Cransac  as  soon 
as  he  came  within  his  reach.  The  cowardly  scoundrel 
still  grasped  in  his  hand  a  long  pointed  knife,  with 
which  he  had  struck  Cransac  in  the  breast,  and  would 
have  infallibly  killed  him  on  the  spot  had  not  the  point 
of  his  formidable  weapon  encountered  the  pocket-book. 
The  banknotes,  which  formed  a  kind  of  breastplate,  had 
saved  the  life  of  the  felon's  heir.  The  steel  had  passed 
through  them,  and  just  grazed  the  skin;  one  bundle  less 
and  Cransac  would  have  been  a  dead  man.  Never  had  a 
few  hundred  thousand  francs  been  placed  more  advan- 
tageously, and  the  possessor  of  this  fortune,  however 
doubtfully  it  might  have  been  acquired,  might  now 
believe  that  luck  had  come  back  to  him  once  more. 

He  thought  this  more  than  once,  as  he  descended  the 
steep,  narrow  street  that  led  on  to  the  boulevards.  The 
crowd  had  begun  to  disperse,  and  many  of  the  booths 
had  put  out  their  lights,  but  he  caught  a  belated  cab, 
and  drove  straight  to  the  Grand  Hotel.  As  he  passed 
through  the  courtyard,  where  some  persons  still  lingered, 
he  noticed  that  some  turned  and  gazed  after  him  with  ill 
concealed  curiosity.  They  could  not,  however,  have 
guessed  that  he  was  loaded  with  gold  and  banknotes. 
Perhaps  they  were  surprised  at  his  slow  and  steady 
pace,  or  the  way  in  which  his  overcoat,  the  pockets  of 
which  were  weighted  with  gold,  hung  stiffly  down. 

Laden  as  he  was  Cransac  had  some  difficulty  in  climbing 
upstairs  to  the  third  floor,  where  he  had  two  rooms,  and 
his  first  care  was  to  reUeve  himseK  of  all  his  burdens; 
then,  in  default  of  a  safe  lockup,  he  threw  everything 
pell-mell  into  his  wardrobe,  and  taking  out  the  key, 
drew  the  bolt  of  his  room  door.  He  did  not  even 
attempt  to  count  his  wealth.  After  so  many  mental  and 
physical  shocks,  he  was  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  only 
retained  a  confused  remembrance  of  the  events  of  the 
day  which  had  succeeded  each  other  with  such  startling 
rapidity.     It  all  appeared  like  a  dream  to  him.    All  at 


THE  felon's  bequest.  121 

once  he  saw  blood  on  his  hands,  and  everything  came 
back  to  him  in  a  moment.  "A  murderer,"  murmured 
he, "  I,  George  Cransac,  am  a  murderer.  I  killed  that 
man  to  preserve  tbe  secret  of  a  fortune  which  is  not 
mine;  a  fortune  which  I  inherited  from  a  robber."  He 
gazed  at  himself  in  the  glass,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  very  expression  of  his  face  had  changed,  and  to 
avoid  the  reflection,  he  staggered  back  to  his  bed  upon 
which  he  cast  himself.  After  a  time  his  wearied  brain 
sank  to  rest  and  he  fell  asleep,  with  the  terrible  words 
"  a  murderer,  a  murderer  I "  still  dropping  from  his 
lips. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

THE   LURE   OF   THE   FOWLER. 

When  Cecile  wrote  to  George  that  orders  were  coming 
in,  in  shoals,  she  had  only  spoken  the  truth,  for  she  had 
gained  a  name  in  the  business;  not  only  for  punctuality, 
but  also  for  superiority  of  execution.  It  was  therefore 
not  very  hard  for  her,  in  spite  of  her  brief  absence,  to 
push  herself  in  the  trade,  and  to  pick  up  the  connection 
which  she  had  let  slip.  One  of  the  business  houses  with 
which  she  had  been  formerly  connected  had  written  to 
her  to  supply  it  with  an  assortment  of  artificial  roses,  and 
on  her  return  home  Cecile  had  found  a  letter  waiting  for 
her  from  a  Mrs.  Georgina  Acton,  who  begged  her  to 
call  at  her  house  in  the  Avenue  de  Boulogne  at  five  o'clock 
on  the  next  day,  to  discuss  an  important  order  for  artifi- 
cial flowers  for  transmission  to  the  United  States.  Cecile 
had  certainly  never  heard  of  Madam  Acton,  but  she  had 
occasionally  received  an  order  from  America,  and  she 
never  for  a  moment  doubted  that  the  order  was  genuine 
Both  hour  and  time  were  convenient  to  her,  as  she  had 
promised  to  come  to  the  Rue  Frochot  at  half-past  six; 
but  in  spite  6f  that,  she  fancied  that  her  interview  with 
the  foreign  lady  would  not  detain  her  so  long  as  to  pre- 
vent her  arriving  in  time,  by  taking  a  cab  after  it  was 
over.  The  poor  woman  whom  George  had  sent  to  her 
address  had  called  in  the  meantime,  and  by  a  curious 
chance,  in  a  place  like  Paris,  where  friends  may  live  for 


122        THE  felon's  bequest. 

years  without  ever  meeting,  she  had  discovered  that  they 
were  old  acquaintances.  The  poor  woman  had  formerly 
been  a  friend  of  the  nurse  in  M.  Cambremer's  service,  and 
Cecile,  who  possessed  a  wonderful  memory  for  faces, 
remembered  her,  though  she  had  not  seen  her  for  mor* 
than  fifteen  years.  This  was  quite  sufficient  to  make 
Cecile  take  the  greatest  interest  in  her,  for  she  was  on  the 
lookout  for  an  elderly  respectable  woman  to  superintend 
her  work  girls  when  she  was  unable  to  be  present  herself, 
and  so  she  soon  made  an  arrangement  with  her.  Josephine 
Sureau,  who  had  been  deserted  by  her  husband  and  left 
with  three  young  children,  was  almost  dying  of  hunger 
when  George  Cransac  had  come  to  her  assistance  in  the 
office  of  the  Government  Pawnbroking  Establishn.ent, 
and  she  felt  herself  only  too  happy  to  enter  Cecile 's  ser- 
vice, who  had  not  lost  a  moment  in'  endeavorirg  to 
extricate  her  from  her  difficulties.  In  twenty-four  hours 
Cecile  had  found  an  asylum  for  her  children:  the  two 
eldest  she  had  apprenticed,  and  the  youngest  was  placed 
in  a  public  nursery,  where  it  would  be  taken  care  of  for 
the  day.  Josephine  was  thoroughly  grateful  to  Cecile, 
but  she  unfortunately  had  two  defects:  she  was  very 
talkative  and  excessively  ciu-ious.  When  she  talked  to 
her  mistress  about  by-gone  times,  she  tried  to  woim  out 
the  story  of  her  troubles,  and  how  she,  the  daughter  of 
wealthy  parents,  had  been  reduced  to  gain  her  liveli- 
hood by  the  manufacture  of  artificial  flowers.  Cecile 
had  taken  care  to  tell  her  that  her  father  had  died 
without  leaving  her  anything,  and  had  entreated  her  to 
ask  her  nothing  further  regarding  her  past  life;  but  she 
had  felt  it  necessary  to  speak  to  her  regarding  her 
acquaintanceship  with  M.  George  Cransac,  and  to  tell 
her  that  the  young  man  was  her  best  friend.  Upon 
the  day  of  her  visit  to  Madam  Acton  she  thought 
it  would  be  as  well  to  take  Josephine  with  her,  to  carry 
her  boxes  of  samples  to  exhibit  to  the  American  lady 
and  to  let  her  see  afterwards  upon  what  footing  she 
was  with  the  gentleman  residing  in  the  Rue  Frochot. 
Josephine  was  delighted  at  the  idea  of  accompanying  her 
new  mistress,  and  went  off  to  get  a  cab,  into  which  they 
both  got,  with  their  sample  boxes  of  flowers.  Cecile  had 
taken  extra  pains  with  her  dress,  not  only  that  Madam 
Acton  might  not  take  her  for  a  woman  in  a  small  way  of 


THE  felon's  bequest.  123 

business,  but  also  that  George  might  feel  proud  of  the 
companion  that  he  was  taking  to  the  theatre.  Slie  still 
possessed  a  dress,  one  of  the  last  relics  of  her  days  of 
prosperity,  and  an  excessively  becoming  mantle  which 
she  had  taken  out  of  pawn.  She  knew  how  to  dress  her 
hair,  and  her  boots  and  gloves  Avere  simply  perfection. 
Upon  this  occasion  she  had  used  all  her  taste,  and  the 
effect  was  really  charming.  Happiness  invariably  increases 
the  good  looks  of  a  woman,  and  joyous  anticipations  had 
thrown  a  mantle  over  her  naturally  cold  expression  of 
countenance.  She  still  resembled  an  antique  statue,  but 
the  glow  of  life  had  now  shed  a  glow  through  the  marble. 

It  Avas  a  long  drive  in  a  cab,  for  almost  the  entire  width 
of  Paris  had  to  be  crossed,  but  Cecile  did  not  feel  wearied 
at  the  time  consumed  in  it.  The  future  was  now  all  rose- 
colored,  and,  contrary  to  her  usual  liabits,  she  spoke  freely 
to  her  companion  of  lier  business  matters,  and  her  hopes 
of  extending  them.  She  had  an  idea  that  a  great  deal 
might  come  of  this  Adsit,  which  would  doubtless  open  out 
to  her  an  extensive  foreign  connection,  and  she  had  great 
hopes  that  this  Madam  Acton  might  be  the  head  of  a 
large  similar  business  in  NeAv  York.  The  snare  had  been 
cunningly  set,  and  poor  Cecile  fell  headlong  into  it. 

Josephine  Sureau  threw  a  little  cold  water  on  her 
enthusiasm,  by  remarking  innocently:  "It  is  a  strange 
part  of  the  town  for  a  lady  in  that  line  to  be  stopping  in." 

"  It  is  the  part  that  the  Americans  frequent  the  most," 
returned  Cecile. 

"Yes,  those  who  are  well  off,  but  a  tradeswoman " 

"  Over  there  very  large  fortunes  are  made  in  trade,  and 
I  am  not  certain  that  Madam  Acton  wishes  to  buy  on  her 
own  account;  she  may  only  be  a  representative." 

"  Oh !  I  see.  I  thought  people  in  business  stopped  in 
the  streets  off  the  main  boulevards,  near  to  the  Palais 
Royal,  but  I  never  thought  that  there  were  lodging-houses 
in  the  Avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne." 

"  Generally  they  are  all  private  houses,  but,  of  course, 
there  may  be  furnished  apartments;  but  we  shall  soon 
find  out  all  about  it." 

As  she  spoke  the  cab  passed  the  Place  de  I'Etoile,  where 
the  evening  before  a  Aile  plot  had  been  hatched. 

Cecile  grew  more  and  more  silent  as  the  time  passed 
on.     She  began  to  ask  herself  if  she  was  not  committing 


124.  THE  felon's  bequest. 

an  act  of  great  imprudence  in  thus  keeping  an  appoint- 
ment which  she  had  made  with  a  woman  entirely  unknown 
to  her;  but  even  now  she  had  no  fear  of  any  serious 
danger.  "Whom  should  she  distrust :  the  man  upon  whom 
she  had  so  unwisely  la\ished  her  first  affections,  who,  after 
draining  her  of  all  her  money,  had  so  cruelly  cast  her  off? 
Certainly  not;  for  she  felt  that  he  would  never  again 
attempt  to  re-possess  himself  of  her  love,  after  her  eyes 
had  been  so  cruelly  opened  to  his  treachery.  Nor  could 
she  for  a  moment  imagine  that  some  wealthy  voluptuary 
had  cast  his  eyes  upon  her,  considering  how  rarely  she 
left  her  home,  and  that  she  lived  in  one  of  the  poorest 
quarters  of  Paris.  The  cab  drew  up  at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  Pergolese,  in  front  of  a  carriage  gateway  which  opened 
upon  a  large  garden. 

"  I  think  that  the  driver  must  have  made  a  mistake," 
murmured  Cecile. 

Josephine  put  her  head  out  of  the  window  and  shouted 
something  to  the  coachman. 

"  This  is  the  number  you  told  me  to  stop  at,"  returned 
he. 

"  But  here  we  are  at  the  door  of  a  private  house,"  said 
Madam  Sureau  to  her  patroness. 

"  Perhaps  Madam  Acton  is  staying  with  some  fellow- 
country  ijeople  of  hers,"  said  Cecile;  but  we  will  soon 
find  out.  Get  down,  and  ask  for  her.  If  the  porter  says 
he  knows  nothing  of  her,  come  back  and  tell  me  and  we 
can  go  away." 

Josephine  hastened  to  obey  her,  and  Cecile  followed 
her  with  her  eyes.  She  saw  her  ring  the  bell  and  say  a 
few  words  to  the  porter,  who  at  first  seemed  inclined  to 
shut  the  door  in  her  face.  Then  he  appeared  to  think 
better  of  it,  and  began  again  to  enter  into  conversation 
with  Cecile's  messenger. 

Mile.  Cambremer  remained  seated  in  the  cab,  and 
could  see  a  conversation  going  on,  although  she  could 
not  hear  a  word  of  what  was  said;  but  she  could  not  help 
feeling  surprised  at  the  time  the  conversation  lasted. 
Surely  it  would  have  been  more  natural  for  the  man  to 
have  replied,  "No,"  or  "Yes,"  as  to  whether  Madam 
Acton  lived  there  or  not;  and  yet  he  seemed  to  be  ques- 
tioning Josephine.  At  last  the  woman  came  back  to  the 
cab-door,  and  the  first  words  she  said  were : 


THE  felon's  bequest.  125 

"  She  is  in." 

Then,  as  Cecile  was  about  to  ask  her  the  cause  of  all 
this  delay,  she  added: 

"  But  she  doesn't  wan't  to  see  everybody,  for  he  began 
by  telling  me  that  he  did  not  know  any  such  person.  He 
stared  at  me  from  head  to  foot,  but  at  last  he  looked 
up  the  street,  then  he  caught  sight  of  the  trap,  and  says 
be: 

"  •  Who  are  you,  and  whom  do  you  come  from  ?  What 
do  you  want  with  Madam  Acton  ? ' 

"It  seemed  as  if  he  would  never  have  done.  I 
answered  plainly,  'I  am  Mile.  Cambremer's  servant,  who 
received  a  letter  from  Madam  Acton,  making  an 
appointment  for  five  o'clock.'  Upon  which  he  growled 
out: 

" '  So  your  mistress  must  employ  a  messenger,  must 
she  ?  Well,  let  her  come  in,  since  she  is  here ;  but  we 
don't  wan't  you  here.'  The  cove  ain't  a  bit  civil;  and  so 
I  just  turned  sharp  around  and  came  here.  The  Yankee 
woman  must  have  lots  of  coin  for  her  flunkeys  to  be  so 
cheeky;  at  any  rate,  however,  she  is  ready  to  see  you. 
So  just  go  in;  I  will  wait  for  you  in  the  cab;  and  if  she 
wants  to  see  any  patterns,  you  will  have  to  send  for  them, 
for  they  certainly  won't  let  me  come  in." 

Cecile  hesitated  for  a  moment,  all  these  precautions 
appeared  rather  suspicious.  On  the  other  hand,  she  had 
no  desire  to  lose  an  affair  which  might  turn  out  highly 
advantageous. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "I  will  go  in.  Mind  and  wait  for 
me.  I  shall,  perhaps  be  some  time,  for  these  foreigners 
take  a  long  while  to  decide.  But  if  I  am  detained 
longer  than  you  think  is  reasonable,  ring  at  the  door, 
and  have  me  called  down  by  the  servant.  I  will  come 
even  if  the  business  is  not  settled,  for  I  must  be  at 
19,  Rue  Frochot,  M.  Cransac's  lodgings,  at  half-past 
six." 

"  That  is  the  gentleman  that  gave  me  twenty  francs 
and  sent  me  to  you.  I  would  go  through  fire  and  water 
for  him,  and  you  are  quite  right  not  to  keep  him  waiting 
he  is  a  right  down  good  one,  he  is." 


126  THE  felon's  bequest. 

CHAPTER  XVIL 

>  A.     Pi.ItISIAN     BEBAOLIO. 

HEAPiNa  these  encomiums  on  George's  head,  Josephine 
opened  the  door  for  Cecile,  who  at  once  entered  the 
house.  The  man-servant,  who  had  remained  standing  on- 
the  threshold,  immediately  allowed  her  to  enter  without 
any  questions,  for  the  fellow  at  once  saw  that  the  expected 
visitor  had  at  length  arrived. 

"  If  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  follow  me,  made- 
moiselle," said  he,  "  I  will  take  you  to  Madam  Acton." 

Oecile  found  herself  in  a  large  courtyard  brilliantly 
lighted  with  gas,  and  separated  by  railings  from  a  gar- 
den fall  of  venerable  trees.  The  house  was  on  the  left- 
hand  side,  and  all  the  windows  were  lighted  up. 

"  Madame  Acton,"  continued  the  servant,  "  occupies 
the  little  detached  dwelling  at  the  end  of  the  garden. 
She  is  only  here  for  a  day  or  two,  and  did  not  wish  to  be 
in  the  general's  way." 

"  The  general  ?  "  repeated  Cecile,  in  tones  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle;  this  house  belongs  to  General 
Burdett,  the  relative  and  countryman  of  Madam  Acton." 

The  man  had  learned  his  lesson  well,  and  these  last 
words  entirely  cleared  away  Cecile's  doubts.  She  had 
only  to  pass  through  the  garden,  which  was  as  well 
lighted  as  the  courtyard,  and  some  thii-ty  paces  in  front 
of  her  she  saw  an  elegant  little  building  covered  with 
ivy,  like  an  English  cottage.  Cecile  thought  that  this 
little  bower  of  verdui'e  could  not  have  been  built  for  the 
commission  of  dark  deeds,  and  that  Madam  Acton,  who 
resided  in  it,  must  be  a  person  of  the  highest  respecta- 
bility; she,  therefore,  had  no  further  grounds  for  fear. 
The  servant  knocked  discreetly  at  the  door,  which  was 
at  once  opened,  and  an  elderly  woman  appeared  dressed 
in  black,  with  her  grey  hair  gathei-ed  up  in  a  net, 

"  Here  is  the  young  lady  for  Madam  Acton,"  said  the 
man. 

«  Very  good,"  said  the  old  woman,  in  a  strong  foreig^n 


THE  felon's  bequest.  127 

accent.  "  The  lady  can  come  up;  Madam  Acton  is  wait- 
ing for  her  upstairs." 

For  a  moment  Cecile  again  hesitated,  for  she  fancied 
that  there  was  something  suspicious  about  the  old 
woman's  appearance;  but  it  was  now  too  late  to  draw 
back.  She  ascended  a  white  marble  staircase,  and  on 
arriving  at  the  landing  on  the  first  floor,  she  turned  to 
question  the  woman  as  to  her  next  movements. 

"  You  will  find  Madam  Acton  in  the  room  in  front;  go 
straight  in." 

And  with  these  words  she  turned  round  and  disap- 
peared. 

Cecile  had  half  a  mind  to  retrace  her  steps,  but  she  was 
ashamed  of  her  nervousness,  and  went  on.  She  first  came 
into  an  ante-room  hung  with  Cordovan  leather,  a  di'awing- 
room,  all  gilding  from  top  to  bottom,  and  a  boudoir  with 
plush-silk  hangings.  These  three  rooms  were  only  separated 
from  each  other  by  curtains  which  hung  across  the  door- 
ways. All  were  lighted  up  with  candles,  and  fires  were  burn- 
ing in  the  hearths ;  but  there  was  no  Madam  Acton.  Cecile, 
who  had  now  made  up  her  mind  to  carry  the  matter 
through,  went  on  further,  and  came  to  a  fourth  room,  very 
strangely  furnished.  Here  there  were  nothing  but  cir- 
cular divans,  luxurious  couches,  lounging-chairs,  and 
cushions  all  covered  in  black  satin,  with  huge  bear-skins 
spread  about  o^er  the  Persian  carpet.  There  were  looking- 
glasses  everywhere,  even  on  the  ceilings.  Upon  the  walls 
were  pictiu-es  representing  nude  female  figures  in  various 
attitudes;  but  still  no  Madam  Acton.  It  could  not  cer- 
tainly have  been  she  who  had  arranged  these  rooms  in 
so  singular  a  style;  the  couches,  the  hangings,  and  the 
pictures  so  free  in  their  execution,  more  suitable  for  the 
boudoir  of  a  fast  woman  than  the  rooms  occupied  by  an 
American  lady,  with  all  her  national  airs  of  prudery. 
And  yet  it  was  not  Madam  Acton's  fault  if  her  fellow- 
countryman  who  Uved  in  Paris  had  a  v/eakness  for  eccen- 
tric furniture  or  indelicate  pictures.  All  this  mattered 
very  little  to  Cecile  as  long  as  she  could  find  the  lady, 
who,  up  to  the  present  moment,  had  remained  invisible- 
She  pushed  her  researches  on  further,  and  came  to  a 
bedroom,  the  appearance  of  which  was  hardly  more  respec- 
table. The  bed  was  placed  in  a  recess  draped  with  lace, 
and  surrounded  with  mirrors.      All  the  toilet  aiTange- 


128  THE  felon's  bequest. 

ments  were  of  the  most  luxurious  description,  the  ewers 
and  bowls  on  the  washing-stand  were  of  agate,  and  there 
were  vaiious  implements  in  ivory,  silver,  and  old  china, 
scattered  about.  A  respectable  woman  would  have 
blushed  to  have  dressed  in  such  a  room,  and  for  an  instant 
Cecile  thought  that  she  had  fallen  into  a  trap.  She  could 
hear  no  sound,  and  see  no  one,  and  yet  everything  around 
her  looked  as  if  some  one  was  expected. 

Who  was  it  that  w^as  waited  for  ?  Was  it  herself  ?  And 
if  so,  was  it  for  the  mere  purchase  of  artificial  flowers  ? 

She  was  frightened,  and  her  only  thought  was  to  escape. 
But  how  was  she  to  do  so  ?  The  woman  whom  she  had 
met  on  her  entrance  had  doubtless  closed  the  door  of  the 
cottage,  and  even  had  it  remained  open,  the  main  gate 
was,  perhaps,  closed  and  guarded.  Would  the  porter  let 
her  pass  through?  She  did  not  wish  to  remain  for 
another  moment  in  this  abode  of  abomination;  the  very 
carpet  seemed  to  burn  her  feet.  She  turned  back  sharply, 
and  was  already  in  the  room  with  the  circular  divans  when 
she  fancied  she  heard  some  one  come  in.  It  was  a  soft, 
steady  step,  but  it  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  did  not 
sound  at  all  like  the  tread  of  a  woman.  Cecile  was  rooted 
to  the  groimd  with  terror;  had  she  been  able  she  would 
have  hidden  herself  like  a  child  behind  a  chair,  or  under 
a  couch,  but  she  was  too  late.  All  at  once  she  saw  the 
figure  of  a  man  coming  towards  her,  dressed  in  a  brocaded 
dressing  gown;  his  bare  neck  emerged  from  a  red  silk 
shirt.  He  wore  a  beard  and  moustache,  and  his  eyes 
glowed  like  coals  of  fire. 

At  the  sight  of  this  unexpected  appearance,  Cecile 
drew  back,  but  the  nearness  of  the  danger  gave  her  cour- 
age. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  Madam  Acton,  who  sent  for  me," 
said  she. 

Instead  of  making  any  reply,  the  man  took  a  step 
towards  her;  she  hurriedly  drew  back,  he  advanced,  and  she 
still  retreated,  until  she  was  driven  back  to  the  wall,  and 
now  she  could  recede  no  further,  and  was  in  the  position 
of  a  duelist  driven  backwards  to  the  wall  by  a  more  power- 
ful adversary. 


THE  felon's  bequest.  129 

CHAPTEB  XVin. 

IN    THE     TI&EB's     cage. 

The  man  was  still  there  standing  in  front  of  her,  and 
devouring  her  with  his  eyes.  The  mirrors  reflected  his 
foim,  and  Cecile  saw  him  on  all  sides  of  her.  Then  fright 
overcame  her.  "  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?"  stammered 
she,  "  I  do  not  know  you." 

"  Did  you  really  think  that  you  came  to  see  an  American 
lady,  who  was  to  buy  flowers  of  you?"  asked  the  man 
with  a  sneer. 

"  Certainly,  I  did." 

"  What !  did  you  not  know  that  you  were  coming  to  see 
a  gentlemen  who  is  fond  of  pretty  girls,  and  is  always 
generous  to  them  ?  " 

And  now  Cecile  understood  him,  and  her  blood  froze 
in  hor  veins. 

"  You  are  very  innocent,  and  yet  I  could  wager  that 
you  have  had  a  lover  before  now  !  Come,  come,  confess 
that  you  knew  well  enough  what  was  coming." 

"  I  forbid  you  to  insult  me,"  said  Cecile,  drawing  herself 
up  haughtily. 

"  No  grand  airs  here,  please.  You  are  in  my  power, 
my  pretty  one,  so  I  advise  you  to  be  more  himible.  I 
only  wish  to  act  for  your  good.  Before  seeing  you,  I  had 
not  made  up  my  mind;  but  now  the  case  is  different,  and 
I  will  risk  everything  to  possess  you !" 

"I  order  you  to  let  me  leave  this." 

"  You  are  right  to  speak  like  that;  you  look  superb. 
Your  eyes  are  blazing  with  rage;  were  you  more  deeply 
affected,  you  would  be  adorable.  I  should  like  to  see  you 
weep." 

"Wretch!" 

"  Go  on — abuse  me — I  want  your  anger  to  melt  away 
in  tears,"  returned  the  pretended  compatriot  of  Madam 
Acton.  He  enjoyed  her  agitation  and  despair  intensely. 
His  face  gleamed  with  ferocity  and  passion;  he  had  all 
the  appearance  of  a  satyr. 

"  I  desire  to  leave  this  house,"  said  she,  firmly. 

"  To  vyrish  and  to  be  able  are  two  different  things.    My 


130  THE  felon's  bequest. 

servants  have  orders  not  to  let  you  out.  Give  up  the 
foolish  idea  of  leaving,"  returned  the  dastardly  Simancas, 
seating  himself  astride  of  a  chair,  two  paces  from  where 
Cecile  was  standing.  "  And  now,  let  me  explain  my 
ideas  to  you.  I  don't  care  whether  you  love  me  or 
not;  indeed,  I  should,  I  think,  prefer  you  to  hate  me.  You 
can't  understand  that,  because  you  have  always  lived  a  mere 
humdrum  existence,  and  have  no  idea  of  the  strange  tastes 
of  a  man  steeped  to  the  lips  in  luxury  as  I  am.  Well, 
now  listen.  As  long  as  my  fancy  for  you  lasts,  you  shall 
wallow  in  gold,  and  when  it  is  over,  you  can  carry  your- 
self and  your  riches  where  you  hke.  Whilst  you  are 
with  me,  you  shall  do  just  as  you  like;  no  doubt  you  will 
deceive  me,  but  when  that  happens — and  be  sure  I  shall 
hear  of  it — I  shall  not  send  you  away,  but  I  shall  chastise 
you,  and  that  will  be  an  additional  pleasure." 

"  You  may  kill  me,  if  jo\i  like,"  returned  Cecile,  "  but 
in  life  I  will  never  be  yours." 

"  KUl  you?"  sneered  Simancas;  "  I  should  be  sorry  to 
do  that.  I  would  much  sooner  make  you  suffer.  I  want 
you  to  learn  the  fate  that  awaits  you.  You  shall  be  as 
much  my  slave  as  if  you  were  shut  up  in  the  harem  of  the 
Sultan  of  Constantinople,  with  this  difference,  that  you 
may  go  for  a  drive  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  when  you 
like.  You  will  say  that  we  are  not  in  Turkey,  but  in 
Paris;  but  a  man  with  millions  at  his  command,  as  I  have, 
is  beyond  the  reach  of  the  law.  If  you  venture  to  tell 
anyone  that  you  were  decoyed  here,  I  shall  deny  it,  and 
no  one  will  believe  that  you  did  not  come  here  of  3'our 
own  free  will  and  accord.  I  could  not  even  be  prose- 
cuted on  account  of  your  age,  for  I  have  learned  that 
you  are  twenty-two." 

Terrified  out  of  her  life,  Cecile  asked  herself  how  this 
odious  voluptuary  had  learned  so  much  concerning  her, 
and  never  lor  a  moment  conceived  that  Juliet  had  fur- 
nished Simancas  with  them,  having  in  her  turn  procured 
them  from  the  dastardly  Arthur. 

"  But  things  will  never  go  so  far  as  that,"  continued 
the  marquis,  "  for  we  are  going  to  make  a  bargaiu." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  answered  the  young  girl  in  a  firm 
voice. 

"  But  I  am  sure  of  it,  and  you  will  not  leave  here  until 
all  is  settled.     I  will  set  you  up  as  the  woman  should  be 


THE  felon's  bequest.  131 

that  I  honor  with  my  countenance.  You  shall  have  a 
house,  horses  and  carriages;  indeed,  I  desire  that  you 
should  do  me  credit,  and  as  I  told  you  before,  I  will  not 
be  too  exacting  as  regards  your  fidelity  to  me." 

"  And  I  tell  you  that  I  will  never  be  yours  whilst  I 
live.  If  you  keep  me  here  in  spite  of  myself,  there  are 
those  who  will  come  here  to  seek  me.  I  did  not  come 
here  alone,  and  the  person  who  is  waiting  for  me  at  your 
door,  when  she  does  not  see  me  come  out,  will  go  and 
tell  some  one,  who  will  not  leave  me  long  in  your  power." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  told  me  that,"  replied  Simancas, 
coolly,  "  and  I  thank  you  for  the  information,  which  I 
will  act  on  at  once."  As  he  spoke,  he  rose  from  the 
chair,  and  moved  towards  the  bell. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  exclaimed  Cecile,  over- 
whelmed with  surprise. 

"  You  shall  see,  or  rather,  hear." 

In  another  moment,  the  old  woman  appeared: 

"  Send  the  footman  to  tell  the  woman  who  is  waiting 
for  this  lady  at  my  door  that  her  mistress  will  remain 
here  this  evening,  and  does  not  require  her  to  stay  here 
any  longer !  " 

The  woman  left  without  a  word,  silent  as  the  mutes 
who  obey  the  orders  of  the  Sultan. 

Cecile  now  felt  that  all  was  indeed  lost,  for  Josephine, 
of  course,  could  not  guess  what  was  going  on  in  the  inte- 
rior of  the  house,  and  would  obey  what  she  conceived  to 
be  her  mistress'  orders. 

"Would  she  go  to  the  Kue  Frochot  to  tell  George  that 
Cecile  would  not  keep  her  appointment  ? 

This  was  the  only  hope  that  remained  to  Cecile ;  and 
certainly  had  the  execrable  Simancas  known  that  Cransac 
was  likely  to  be  informed  of  what  bad  happened,  he 
would  have  taken  other  steps,  for  as  Cransac  knew  his 
address,  he  was  not  likely  to  be  deceived  by  the  story  of 
the  false  Madam  Acton. 

"  Well,"  said  Simancas,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  are  you 
satisfied  that  no  one  will  now  take  any  steps  to  find 
you?" 

Cecile  made  no  reply.  She  was  seeking  for  some 
means,  not  of  flight,  but  of  death,  by  which  she  might 
escape  from  the  fate  that  the  villain  was  preparing  for  her. 
She  had  no  sort  of  weapon,  and  the  accursed  chamber 


132  THE  felon's  bequest. 

had  no  windows.  She  might  have  endeavored  to  dash 
her  head  against  the  mirrors,  but  Simaneas  could  easily 
have  prevented  her  doing  so ;  and  besides,  she  might  not 
succeed  in  killing  herself  at  the  first  blow.  Could  she 
call  out  for  help?  No  one  would  come  to  her.  Her 
cries  would  not  even  be  heard;  the  thick  hangings  would 
deaden  them  like  the  vaulted  roof  of  a  dungeon. 

Should  she  implore  for  mercy  ?  As  soon  ask  it  from  a 
tiger.  Even  the  tiger,  when  he  has  satisfied  his  appetite, 
disdains  the  living  prey  that  passes  within  reach  of  his 
claws;  but  the  appetite  of  Simaneas  was  begiuning  to 
develop.  He  gloated  over  Cecile's  anguish,  and  would, 
if  he  could,  have  drunk  her  tears,  as  a  tiger  diinks 
blood. 

Simaneas  evidently  took  a  fiendish  pleasure  in  pro- 
longing this  painful  situation,  for  CecQe  was  absolutely 
defenceless,  and  entirely  in  his  power,  but  he  preferred 
to  dally  over  his  approaching  victory.  He  could  see 
hatred  and  disgust  painted  in  the  young  girl's  exquisite 
features,  and  the  sight  of  these  roused  his  passions  to  the 
maddest  extent.  The  end  was  very  near,  but  it  seemed 
as  if  he  considered  that  she  had  not  yet  suffered  enough, 
and  his  obj  ect  was  to  give  himself  the  pleasure  of  gloat- 
ing over  her  agonies.  "  You  have  done  well,"  sneered  he, 
"  in  having  endeavored  to  repulse  me.  Had  you  yielded 
to  me  I  might  have  accepted  you,  but  my  passion  would 
have  rapidly  passed  away,  but  you  draw  back,  you  affect 
virtuous  instincts,  and  you  are  ready  to  tear  out  my 
eyes.  Delicious;  that  is  just  the  seasoning  that  I  require. 
If  I  could  hope  that  I  could  never  bend  you  willingly  to 
my  desires,  I  should  like  it  all  the  better,  for  then  I 
should  have  found  what  I  have  for  a  long  time  been 
seeking  for,  a  woman  that  I  could  torture,  and  who  would 
yet  be  mine." 

"  Coward  I  "  cried  Cecile. 

"Yes,  yes,  abuse  me,  and  prepare  to  tear  my  eyes 
out.  You  cannot  think  how  pleasant  you  are  making 
things  for  me."  As  he  spoke  he  crept  up  slyly  to 
her. 

"  Coward  I "  she  repeated,  and  as  she  spoke  she  spat 
in  his  face. 

The  villain  at  once  made  a  rush  at  her,  but  she  escaped 
him  by  diving  under  his  outstretched  arm,  and  darting 


THE  felon's  bequest.  133 

beHnd  an  ottoman.  As  she  rose  from  her  recumbent 
position  slie  caught  sight  of  the  poker,  which,  having 
been  placed  between  the  bars,  was  now  red  hot,  and 
would  prove  a  formidable  weapon,  even  in  the  hands  of  a 
woman.  She  darted  upon  it.  "  One  more  step,"  cried 
she,  "  and  I  will  bum  out  your  eyes." 

"  Ha,  ha,"  laughed  he.  "  Do  you  force  me  to  proceed 
to  extremities  ?  Well,  well,  it  is  your  own  fault,"  and 
as  he  spoke  he  pressed  the  button  of  an  electric  bell 
which  was  near  him  in  the  wall." 

"  I  will  have  you  tied  hand  and  foot  by  my  servants, 
and  then  we  shall  see  what  you  will  do.  I  might  even 
tell  them  to  gag  you,  but  I  woidd  rather  hear  you  beg 
and  entreat  for  mercy,  so  that  there  was  no  one  but  me 
to  hear  you." 

Cecile  felt  that  she  was  indeed  lost,  and  gazed  around 
her  for  some  fresh  means  of  escape.  Simancas  kept  at  a 
distance  from  the  flaming  weapon  in  her  hand.  He  was 
waiting  for  help  to  enable  him  to  accomplish  his  object 
without  risking  his  skin.  There  was  a  candelabra  full  of 
candles  on  the  mantel-piece;  Cecile  seized  it,  and  set  fire 
to  the  brocade  hangings  which  concealed  the  walls. 
Before  Simancas  could  wrench  it  from  her  hand,  the 
whole  place  was  in  a  blaze.  As  the  smoke  began  to  fill 
the  ^oom,  he  made  another  rush  at  her,  but  she  hurled 
the  red  hot  poker  at  his  head,  and  he  started  back  with 
a  shriek  of  agony.  Cecile  profited  by  this  moment's 
respite  to  make  her  escape.  She  rushed  into  the  next 
room,  and  almost  fell  over  two  footmen,  who  had 
answered  the  bell,  but  who  now  only  thought  of  rescuing 
their  master,  who  was  in  the  burning  room.  She  let 
them  pass  by  her,  and  ran  down  the  staircase,  crying  out 
"  fire,  fire."  As  the  footmen  had  entered  they  had 
omitted  to  close  the  door;  Cecile  was  therefore  able 
to  make  her  way  iuto  the  garden  without  any  hindrance. 
The  porter  had  left  his  lodge,  and  was  gazing  stupidly 
at  the  smoke  which  was  beginning  to  pour  out  of  the 
building,  and  she  crept  past  him  without  his  seeing  her 
and  then  opened  the  door,  without  pausing  to  see  what 
progress  the  conflagration  had  made.  All  she  thought 
of  was  to  escape  from  the  clutches  of  Simancas,  who  wao 
quite  capable  of  sending  his  servants  in  pursuit  of  her 
She  felt  that  she  wovdd  not  be  in  safety  until  she  reached 


134  THE  felon's  bequest. 

the  Avenue  of  tlie  Bois  de  Boulogne ;  it  was  not  far  off, 
and  she  hurried  to  it.  She  knew  that  she  should  be  able 
to  get  a  conveyance  there,  although  at  that  hour  the 
number  of  vehicles  decreased,  and  the  streets  were 
almost  dark,  but  she  ran  with  all  her  speed  to  the  Arch 
of  Triumph,  which  she  could  see  towering  up  in  front  of 
her,  and  which,  in  her  eyes,  looked  as  a  beacon  on  a  rock- 
bound  coast  appears  to  storm-tossed  mariners.  Beyond 
it  was  the  haven  of  safety.  There  was  Paris,  living, 
moving  Paris,  in  which  she  was  certain  of  finding  aid  and 
assistance. 

She  fancied  that  she  coidd  hear  the  sound  of  hurried 
footsteps  pursuing  her,  but  she  never  stopped  to  ascertain 
the  correctness  of  her  supposition.  Cecile  had  looked  for 
the  cab  in  which  she  had  come,  and  which  she  had  left  at 
the  corner  of  the  Rue  Pergolees,  but  it  was  no  longer 
there.  Evidently  Josephine  had  beheved  the  message 
that  the  footman  had  given  her,  and  had  gone  away.  All 
that  she  had  to  do  was  to  find  another  conveyance,  and 
could  she  but  reach  the  Place  de  I'Etoile  she  felt  sure  that 
she  could  do  so,  for  there  was  a  cabstand  at  the  end  of 
the  Avenue  of  the  Champs  Elysees.  Then  all  she  would 
have  to  do  would  be  to  drive  to  the  Rue  Frochot,  for  she 
had  resolved  not  to  return  home  without  having  seen 
George  Cransac.  Would  he  still  be  at  home,  or  would  he 
have  grown  tired  of  waiting  for  her  ?  The  time  had  flown, 
whilst  she  was  defending  heraelf  against  the  villainous 
attempts  of  Simancas,  and  it  was  now  seven  o'clock.  Her 
drive  to  the  Rue  Frochot  would  take  at  least  forty  minutes 
more.  If  Josephine  had  gone  direct  to  George,  and 
repeated  the  message  that  had  been  given,  what  would 
he  think  of  her,  and  of  her  having  at  the  last  moment 
changed  her  mind,  and  broken  her  appointment?  It  was 
enough  to  make  him  believe  that  she  was  faithless  to  him, 
and  had  been  deceiving  him  all  along.  Such  thoughts  as 
these  were  not  suited  to  soothe  her  feelings  after  the  terri- 
ble shock  that  she  had  sustained,  and  she  reached  the  Rue 
Frochot  in  a  state  of  extreme  nervousness  and  anxiety. 
She  almost  hoped  not  to  find  the  man  sbe  had  so  ai'dently 
desired  to  see,  so  great  fear  had  she  of  being  received 
unkindly.  How  was  she  to  narrate  to  him  the  trial  that 
she  had  passed  through  in  all  its  native  hideousness  ? 
How  could  she  tell  him  all  the  shameful  details  ?     Might 


THE  felon's  bequest.  135 

he  not  then  demand  satisfaction  from  the  man  who  had 
insulted  her,  and  in  a  duel  might  not  George's  life  be 
sacrificed  ?  Unable  to  come  to  any  decision,  she  resolved 
to  leave  all  to  chance,  and  felt  that  everything  depended 
upon  the  reception  that  he  would  accord  her. 

As  a  beginning  the  porter  made  an  unpleasant  remark. 
"What,  auother !  "  muttered  he;  "it  seems  as  if  it  was  the 
day  for  visits."  Then,  as  she  persisted  in  going  upstairs, 
he  added:  "As  you  Hke,  but  I  have  not  seen  her  come 
down." 

Cecile  went  upstairs  more  troubled  in  mind  than  ever. 
The  words,  "What  another?"  evidently  referred  to 
Josephine,  who  must  have  been  there  a  short  time  before. 
What  could  she  have  said  to  George  ?  Had  she  contented 
herself  with  stating  without  further  comment  that  her 
mistress  would  not  come  ?  Cecile  could  not  guess  what 
had  taken  place,  and  every  puise  in  her  heart  throbbed 
as  she  rang  at  the  door  of  the  man  she  loved. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
"can  we  not  trust  each  othek?" 

As  Cransac  had  never  had  a  servant  in  his  life,  he 
opened  the  door  himself,  and  a  sudden  change  came  over 
his  face  as  he  recognized  his  visitor.  "  I  did  not  expect 
you  mademoiselle,"  said  he,  with  a  frown. 

"  Was  I  wrong  then  in  coming  ?"  asked  she,  in  deep 
distress. 

"  No,  only  I  expected  you  earlier.  May  I  ask  you  to 
come  in?" 

He  ushered  her  into  a  plainly  furnished  room,  which  he 
used  as  a  study,  offered  her  a  seat,  and  remained  standing 
in  front  of  her. 

"  K  you  only  knew  what  I  had  gone  through  to-day," 
faltered  she. 

"  I  know  perfectly,"  answered  George,  coldly.  "  You 
received  a  letter  from  a  lady  who  wished  to  give  you  an 
order,  and  you  took  the  trouble  to  write  to  me  that  you 
were  going  to  wait  on  her  at  five  o'clock;  but  you  did  not 
tell  me  that  you  would  remain  there.    Therefore  I  was  a 


136  THE  felon's  bequest. 

little  surprised  at  learning  that  you  would  not  be  here 
this  evening." 

"  Ah  I  then  you  have  seen ?  " 

"  The  woman  I  introduced  to  you,  and  in  whom  you 
were  kind  enough  to  interest  youi'self.  Yes,  mademoiselle, 
I  have  seen  her." 

"  And  she  told  you  ? " 

"Hardly  anything.  She  told  me  that  the  lady  to  whom 
you  had  gone  had  kept  you — to  dinner,  I  suppose,  and 
would  have  gone  into  further  explanations,  but  I  wished 
to  hear  nothing  further,  and  dismissed  her." 

"  Happily  he  knows  nothing,"  thought  Cecile.  But  for 
all  that  she  covdd  see  that  he  suspected  her;  his  reserved 
manner,  his  icy  tone,  and  the  distant  manner  in  which  he 
addressed  her,  all  indicated  that  he  did  not  trust  her. 
To  convince  him  that  he  had  no  cause  to  doubt  her  it 
would  be  necessaiy  to  tell  him  the  whole  truth,  and  she 
had  never  before  so  thoroughly  understood  the  truth  of 
the  old  adage  "  Truth  is  not  always  palatable." 

"I  am  glad  to  see,"  continued  George,  in  the  same 
sarcastic  tone,  "  that  the  lady  has  at  last  been  able  to 
disjpense  with  your  company;  at  least  I  presume  so,  since 
you  have  obtained  her  permission  to  come  and  see  me." 

"  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  in  this  manner  ?  "  asked 
Cecile,  sadly.     "  What  have  I  done  to  you  ?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,  mademoiselle,  for  I  have  no  right  to 
expect  anything  of  jon,  not  even  the  courtesy  of  punctu- 
ality, and  I  trust  you  will  not  do  me  the  unjustice  of 
thinking  that  I  am  complaining  about  having  missed  my 
dinner  on  jour  account." 

"  No,  I  think  that  you  are  angry  with  me  for  other 
reasons,  and  much  more  serious  ones.  Well,  if  you  have 
any  friendship  for  me,  tell  me  what  they  are,  and  let  me 
know  of  what  you  accuse  me." 

"  I  accuse  you  of  nothing,  mademoiselle.  I  have  not 
the  right  to  do  so,  nor  have  you  any  account  to  give  me 
of  your  conduct;  but  I  have  the  right  to  be  grieved," 
returned  George,  speaking  with  an  emotion  that  he  strove 
in  vain  to  hide.  "  I  am  foolish  I  know,  but  how  can  I 
help  it  ?  I  had  put  my  whole  confidence  in  you.  I  had 
dreamed  of  a  possible  future  for  us  both,  and  I  had 
fancied  that  this  very  evening  was  to  have  been  a  com- 
mencement of  that  sweet  life  which  you  yourself  had 


THE  felon's  bequest.  137 

mapped  out  for  us;  but  the  vision  lias  fled.    I  might  have 
looked  for  its  doing  so." 

"And  so,"  returned  Cecile  slowly,  "you  think  then 
that  I  have  lied  to  you,  and  that  this  story  of  an  order 
which  compelled  me  to  go  from  one  end  of  Paris  to  the 
other  was  a  mere  invention  on  my  part  ?  You  must 
think  me  very  silly,  for  there  was  no  reason  why  I 
should  have  written  to  you  making  the  appointment,  and 
had  I  wished  to  Lave  acted  unfairly  to  you,  I  could  have 
chosen  my  opportunity  better." 
"  Perhaps  you  had  no  alternative." 
"  You  mean  that  I  was  forced  to  obey  an  order.  From 
whom,  pray,  should  I  receive  one — I  who  am  at  no  one's 
beck  and  call  ?  "  Then,  as  George  made  no  reply,  she 
continued:  "Be  open,  and  speak  out;  you  believe  that  I 
had  an  appointment  with  some  man,  which  it  was  impos- 
sible for  me  not  to  keep." 

"  And  why  should  I  not  think  so  ?  "  asked  George,  gaz- 
ing steadily  into  the  young  girl's  face,  whose  eyes  never 
for  a  moment  fell  before  his. 

"You  have  a  wretched  opinion  of  me,"  said  she, 
bitterly.  "  Would  you  beHeve  me  if  I  showed  you  the 
letter  which  I  received,  a  woman's  letter,  signed  Georg- 
ina  Acton  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  ask  to  see  it." 

"  And  if  I  swore  to  you  by  the  memory  of  my  father, 
that  I  left  my  home  this  morning  on  a  mere  matter  of 

business " 

"  I  should  not  doubt  you,  but  I  beg  you  to  explain 
to  me  how  it  was  that  the  woman  who  was  with  you 
came  to  me  to  tell  me  that  I  should  not  see  you  this 
evening  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  send  her." 

"  What !  do  you  mean  she  invented  the  whole  thing  ? 
And  to  what  end  pray  ?  " 

"She  invented  nothing;  she  believed  what  she  was 
told." 

"Then  she  was  deceived;  but  by  whom?  Tell  me,  I 
beg  of  yon,  and  do  not  not  leave  me  in  suspense;  this 
doubt  is  killing  me.  You  are  stiU  silent.  Can  you  not 
see  how  I  am  suffering  ?  " 

Cecile  too  was  suffering  terribly.  To  put  an  end  to 
this  embarrassing   dialogue  all  ahe  had  to  do  was  to 


138  THE  felon's  bequest. 

narrate  her  unfortunate  adventure  and  this  she  did  not 
dare  do  for  fear  of  future  consequences  between  George 
and  Simancas. 

After  some  consideration  she  resolved  to  tell  him  what 
had  occurred,  >vithout  naming  the  villain  who  had  endea- 
vored to  draw  her  into  the  snare.  "Well,"  said  she, 
after  a  short  silence,  "  if  you  must  know  all,  listen.  The 
letter  that  I  received  was  a  lure  to  draw  me  into  a  trap, 
and  I  fell  into  it.  I  thought  that  I  was  going  to  the  house 
of  some  wealthy  foreign  lady,  who  would  give  me  an  exten- 
sive order  for  artificial  flowers  for  the  United  States. 
And,  in  proof  of  the  truth  of  this  assertion,  I  took 
Josej)hine  Sureau  with  me,  with  samples  of  my  work. 
All  this  she  would  have  told  you  had  you  only  listened 
to  her." 

"I  allow  all  that;  but  when  you  came  to  the  address 
that  had  been  given  you,  you  must  have  seen  that  you 
had  been  hoaxed,  and  that  there  was  no  American  lady 
at  all." 

"  The  villain  had  foreseen  everything;  his  servants 
were  in  the  conspiracy,  and  when  1  asked  for  Madame 
Acton,  they  told  me  that  she  was  expecting  me.  How 
coiild  I  guess  what  was  going  to  take  place?  I  told 
Josephine  to  wait  for  me  in  the  cab,  and  even  took  the 
precaution  to  tell  her  to  come  and  ask  for  me  if  I  was 
detained  for  any  length  of  time. ' 

"  And  instead  of  obeying  your  orders,  she,  who  was 
everything  to  you,  deserted  her  post  ?  " 

"Not  exactly;  a  footman  was  sent  to  her,  presumably 
from  me  to  teU  her  not  to  wait.  The  poor  woman  be- 
lieved the  message,  and  drove  to  your  house,  because  I 
told  her  that  you  were  expecting  me." 

"  Why  did  I  not  question  her  ?  "  asked  George,  strik- 
ing his  forehead. 

"  Alas !  she  could  not  have  told  you  the  danger  to 
which  I  was  exposed." 

"  Tell  me  what  it  was." 

"  Can  you  not  guess  the  danger  a  young  woman  runs 
when  she  is  betrayed  into  the  clutches  of  a  monster.  It 
is  not  her  money  or  her  life  that  he  demands " 

"  What,  a  man  dared ?  " 

"  I  had  no  distrust;  I  was  taken  to  a  detached  building 
in  the  garden,  and  left  alone  there.     As  soon  as  I  per- 


THE  felon's  bequest.  139 

ceived  that  I  liad  been  entrapped,  I  tried  to  fly,  but  the 
doors  were  closed  on  me.     Then  a  man  came  in " 

"  Ah !  this  is  too  terrible." 

"  He  addressed  me  in  the  most  insulting  manner.  He 
had  the  audacity  to  tell  me  that  he  had  bought  me,  and 
that  I  belonged  to  him  soul  and  body." 

«  But  did  he  stop  there  ?  " 

"  I  spat  in  his  face,  and  then  he  rushed  upon  me " 

"  And  in  the  unequal  strife  you  were  overpowered  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Cecile,  with  energy. 

"  How  did  you  contrive  to  escape  him  ?  " 

"  I  seized  a  candle  and  set  fire  to  the  hangings  of  the 
room.  I  burnt  my  hands,  but  as  his  servants  rushed  in 
I  managed  to  escape." 

George  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  taking  in  his  hands 
those  delicate  fingers,  which  still  bore  the  trace  of  the 
fire,  bathed  them  with  tears,  and  covered  them  Avith 
kisses.     "  And  I — I  who  accused  you,"  faltered  he. 

Then,  suddenly  starting  to  his  feet,  he  exclaimed  : 
"  His  name — give  me  the  villain's  name  !  " 

"  His  name  ?  "  stammered  Cecile;  "  I  do  not  know  his 
name." 

"  What !  "  cried  G-eorge.  "  You  went  to  his  house,  and 
you  do  not  know  his  name  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  but  it  was  to  Madam  Acton's  that  I 
went." 

"  You  at  least  know  the  address  ?  " 

"  It  was  near  the  Bois  de  Boulogne." 

"  Give  me  the  exact  address." 

"  For  what  reason  ?  " 

"  That  I  may  punish  the  scoundrel." 

"  You  mean  to  challenge  him  ?  No,  you  shall  not  fight 
for  me." 

"  I  will,  unless  indeed  I  find  that  he  is  one  of  those 
men  with  whom  one  cannot  fight  without  degrading 
oneself." 

"  And  he  is  one  of  those.  He  has  acted  like  a  villain 
of  the  lowest  stamp,  and  should  be  treated  as  such." 

"  You  are  right.  He  has  committed  an  offence  in  the 
eye  of  the  law,  and  I  will  denounce  him,  and  let  him 
pay  the  penalty  of  his  crime;  that  wiU  be  the  better 
course." 

"  Then  all  will  know  that  I  was  in  his  house  for  an 


140        THE  felon's  bequest. 

hour,  and  do  you  think  that  he  will  hesitate  to  calumni- 
ate me  ?  He  will  say  that  I  came  to  him  willingly;  and 
how  can  I  prove  the  contrary  ?  No,  you  must  not  do 
that." 

"  Then  I  must  kill  him,"  replied  George,  in  a  deter- 
mined tone. 

"  He  will  refuse  to  fight,  he  will  deny  every  thing,  and 
will  swear  that  I  came  to  his  house  of  my  own  free  will." 

George  grew  deadly  pale,  and  a  sj)asm  of  j)ain  con- 
tracted his  features.  "  Good,"  he  said,  in  broken  accents. 
"  Since  you  insist  on  it  I  will  do  nothing,  but  I  shall  be 
at  liberty  to  think  what  I  like  of  this  obstinacy  of  yours, 
in  refusing  to  give  me  this  man's  name  and  address.  Ah ! 
mademoiselle,  you  had  better  have  kept  this  tale  to 
yourself;  there  was  no  need  for  you  to  have  told  it  to 
me. 

"  You  are  right,  and  that  proves  the  truth  of  it.  Had  I 
wished  to  deceive  you,  it  would  have  been  easy  for  me  to 
have  invented  a  more  plausible  story  to  have  justified  my 
want  of  punctuality." 

•'  You  cannot  always  think  of  everything.  You  hoped 
that  this  one  would  have  been  sufficient  for  me,  and  now 
that  you  see  how  determined  I  am  to  sift  the  matter 
thoroughly,  you  seek  to  stop.  I  now  begin  to  xinder- 
stand." 

"  You  believe  that  I  am  deceiving  you;  this  was  all  that 
was  wanted  to  fill  my  cup  to  the  brim,"  sobbed  Cecile. 
"  What  can  I  do,  great  heavens !  to  convince  you  that  you 
have  no  grounds  on  which  to  reproach  me  ?  " 

"  Give  me  his  address  then." 

"  So  that  you  may  risk  your  life  against  his,  against 
that  villian's  !  Never !  Sooner  let  me  die,  and  then  later 
on  you  will  know  that  I  was  not  guilty,  and  will  shed  a 
tear  for  me." 

"  How  can  I  put  faith  in  your  story  ?  Do  I  even  know 
that  you  have  received  this  letter  with  the  English 
signature  ?  Had  you  done  so  you  would  have  shown  it 
to  me." 

Cecile  could  hold  out  no  longer;  to  lose  George's  love 
and  to  rest  under  the  weight  of  his  contempt  was  too 
much.  She  drew  the  letter  from  her  bosom,  and  handed 
it  to  him.  "  Here  it  is,"  said  she;  "  will  you  believe  me 
now  ?  " 


THE  felon's  bequest.  141 

George  took  the  letter  and  read  the  address.  *'  How 
did  this  foreign  woman  know  where  you  lived  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Bead  the  letter;  you  will  then  see  that  the  woman  or 
the  man  who  wrote  it  got  my  address  from  a  wholesale 
dealer,  with  whom  I  have  done  business  for  a  long  time." 

George  took  the  letter  from  its  envelope,  his  eyes  were 
dim,  and  his  hands  trembled,  so  deep  was  the  emotion 
he  felt.  He  perused  it  all  down  to  the  very  signature, 
from  which  he  learned  nothing,  as  it  was  a  false  one;  but 
beneath  the  signature  "  Rue  Pergolese,  at  the  corner  of 
the  Avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne."  When  she  gave 
him  the  letter  in  her  own  justification,  Cecile  had  for- 
gotten that  she  had  handed  him  the  clue  to  the  identity 
of  the  man  who  had  so  basely  ensnared  her. 

"  That  man !  "  vociferated  George.  "  Is  that  the  man 
who  has  laid  this  devilish  trap  for  you  ?  Ah !  this  time, 
I  have  got  the  villian  firmly." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Cecile,  who  did  not  know 
of  George's  old  grudge  against  the  marquis. 

"  I  mean  that  the  man  who  lives  there  has  already 
treated  me  in  a  most  scandalous  manner,  and  that  I  will 
now  be  revenged  on  him  for  all  the  insults  he  has  heaped 
on  my  head." 

"  How  can  he  have  insulted  you?  Tou  must  be  deceiv- 
ing yourself." 

"  Not  at  all.     At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Pergolese,  on 
entering  the  avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  there  is  a 
house,  and  that  house  belongs  to  Simancas." 
'"Simancas?  " 

"  Yes;  a  Spaniard  who  calls  himself  a  marquis,  and  lias 
his  lackeys  Cidl  him  General.  The  man  y.ou  saw  was  a 
foreigner,  was  he  not  ?  " 

"I  think  so;  but " 

"  What  is  he  like  ?  " 

"Rather  tall,  broad  shoulders,  very  dark,  wearing  a  full 
black  beard." 

"  It  is  the  same  man,  I  tell  you.  Where  can  he  have 
seen  you,  that  he  set  this  timj)  for  you  ?  " 

"  Nowhere;  at  least,  I  do  not  recollect  seeing  him  any- 
where." 

"  Then  he  was  ignorant  of  your  existence  ?  You  must 
have  been  pointed  out  to  him.  He  pays  unsexed  women 
to  find  out  poor  and  virtuous  girls  for  him.     Who  can 


142  THE  felon's  bequest. 

have  found  you  out  ?  Ah !  but  I  seem  to  recognize  this 
writing." 

George  examined  the  letter  more  attentively.  "  Now  I 
know  it,"  cried  he,  after  a  strict  scrutiny.     "  It  is  Juliet." 

"Juliet!"  repeated  Cecile,  as  though  the  name  had 
suggi^sted  a  vague,  indefinite  recollection  to  her. 

"  Yes,  Juliet,  a  woman  who,  to  my  misfortune,  I  for- 
merly knew." 

"  Were  you  her  lover  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  many  others ;  but,  I  confess  it,  I  was  fooHsh 
enough  to  show  myself  with  her,  and  she  rewarded  me 
by  slandering  me  everywhere.  She  hates  me,  and  I 
return  the  feeling  cordially.  She  dealt  the  blow  at  me, 
in  endeavoring  to  throw  you  into  the  aims  of  Simancas." 

"  Have  you  spoken  of  me  to  her  ?"  - 

"  Never.     I  have  never  seen  her  since  I  met  you." 

"  Then  how  was  she  able  to  learn  that  jon  knew  me  ?" 

"How  can  we  tell  ?  Perhaps  she  saw.  you  in  the  street, 
and  your  beauty  attracted  her  attention,  and  as  she  has 
fallen  so  low  as  to  pander  for  the  jjassions  of  a  wealthy 
voluptary,  she  may  have  followed  you." 

"  I  should  have  noticed  it,  as  I  did  when  that  man  fol- 
lowed us  on  the  day  Avhen  we  were  last  together." 

The  recollection  which  the  gii'l  roused  in  George's 
mind  caused  a  fresh  suspicion  to  come  across  him.  This 
spy  was  the  servant  and  ready  tool  of  Cornelian.  Had  the 
Lion  Queen  and  Juliet  conspired  together  to  remove  a 
rival  from  their  path?  It  seemed  hardly  likely;  and  yet 
he  was  aware  that  they  had  met  since  his  first  visit  to  the 
menagerie,  when  Juliet  had  told  Cornelian  his  address  in 
the  Rue  Frochot. 

Quivering  with  emotion,  Cecile  for  a  few  moments 
reflected  deeply.  "  "What  is  that  woman's  name  ?"  asked 
she,  suddenly. 

"  I  told  you— Juliet." 

"Juliet  what?" 

"Juliet  Taupier." 

"  Ah  !  sobbed  Cecile,  hidiiig  her  face  in  her  hands,  "  I 
had  guessed  it  aU,  only  too  truly." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Her  lover  is " 

"  Finish  your  sentence." 

"The  man  whom  I  fancied  I  loved;  but  I  could  hardly 


THE  felon's  bequest.  143 

believe  in  such  infamy.  Now  I  understand  all.  He  has 
mentioned  me  to  his  new  mistress,  and  they  have  plotted 
together  to  hand  me  over  to  that  man." 

"And  I  saw  the  scoundrel  with  Juliet;  his  name  is 
Arthur." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"I  heard  Juhet  call  him  so,  when  she  insulted  me 
before  him,  and  I  struck  him." 

"  You  struck  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  he  did  not  return  the  blow." 

A  flush  of  shame  passed  across  Cecile's  cheek  as  she 
heard  of  the  cowardly  conduct  of  the  man  she  had  once 
loved.  And  this  thoroughly  feminine  feeling  did  not  for 
a  moment  injure  her  in  George  Cransac's  eyes,  whose 
heart  was  a  sufficiently  noble  one  to  understand  her  com- 
pletely. "  I  cannot  comprehend  how  it  was  I  did  not 
recognize  his  portrait  the  moment  that  I  saw  it  at  your 
rooms,"  remarked  he,  to  draw  her  mind  away  from  the 
painful  flood  of  recollection  that  had  evidently  swept 
over  it. 

"I  thought  I  bad  told  you,"  returned  slie,  "that  since 
he  had  shaved  off  his  moustache  he  had  altered  greatly. 
But  now  you  have  the  portrait.  I  entreated  you  to  burn 
it,  or  to  tear  it  up.  I  do  so  no  longer,  but  supplicate  you 
to  cast  it  into  the  common  sewer." 

As  Cecile  spoke  the  fire  flashed  from  her  eyes;  and  if 
George  had  still  any  doubts  of  her,  the  transport  of  pas- 
sion which  pervaded  her  whole  being  showed  plainly 
that  she  had  nothing  with  which  to  reproach  herself. 
The  noble-minded  girl,  who  showed  such  anger  against 
a  debased  man,  could  not  stoop  to  a  lie.  "  No,"  replied 
George;  "  I  will  keep  that  portrait.  It  may  be  of  use  to 
me  later  on,  when  I  know  where  to  find  the  original  of  it; 
but  I  promise  you  that  I  will  not  lay  hands  on  either  this 
rogue  or  his  accomplice ;  the  police  will  have  them  in  good 
time;  but  it  is  Simancas  that  I  want." 

"  "Why  so  ?  "  asked  Cecile,  eagerly;  "  he  is  no  better  or 
worse  than  the  others,  and  is,  therefore,  as  much  beneath 
your  anger  as  they  are." 

"He  has  what  they  have  not  got — a  certain  social 
standing,  which  prevents  his  shrinking  back  if  he  is 
challenged." 


144  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  Are  you  then  resolved  to  do  so,  in  spite  of  my  tears 
and  entreaties  ?  " 

"  More  so  than  ever.  I  have  an  old  score  to  settle  "with 
him,  and  finish  off  that  and.  the  new  one  at  the  same 
time." 

"  But  it  is  I  that  he  has  insulted — I  alone,  for  he  did 
not  know  that  I  lo — that  I  knew  you. " 

Cecile  had,  in  a  moment  of  forgetf  ulness,  ahnost  uttered 
the  words  "  I  loved  you." 

"  Are  you  defending  his  conduct  to  me  ?  "  asked  George, 
harshly. 

"  No,  certainly  not;  but  I  can  see  what  he  will  reply 
to  your  demands  that  I  am  not  your  wife,  nor  even  your 
mistress,  and  that  you  have  no  authority  to  act  in  my 
defence." 

"  I  shall  not  argue  the  point  with  him.  I  shall  strike 
him  across  the  face  to  begin  with,  and,  if  he  is  not  the 
veriest  coward  upon  earth,  that  will  make  him  fight !  " 

George  forgot  the  wise  words  of  warning  that  Valbrec 
had  given  him:  that  people  who  were  acquainted  with 
his  case  would  refuse  to  cross  swords  "with  a  man  sus- 
pected of  forgery,  and  discharged  in  default  of  sufficient 
evidence  to  convict  him. 

Simancas  would  certainly  take  this  view  of  the  case, 
and  would  refuse  to  fight,  even  if  the  provocation  he 
received  was  followed  by  an  act  of  personal  violence. 

But  of  this  Cecile  was  ignorant.  AU  she  desired  was 
to  prevent  an  encounter  which  might  prove  fatal  to  the 
man  she  loved.  "  Once  again  I  ask  you  as  a  favor," 
pleaded  she,  taking  his  hands  in  hers,  "  do  not  risk  your 
life  for  me.  Do  not  honor  this  "vdllain  by  crossing  swords 
with  him." 

"  Take  care,"  returned  George,  bitterly;  "  if  you  per- 
sist in  your  request,  I  shall  begin  to  think  that  you  have 
a  tender  feeling  for  him,  and  are  afraid  that  I  shall  kill 
him !  " 

"  How  can  you  say  so  ?  "  replied  Cecile,  deeply  humili- 
ated at  the  idea. 

"How  do  I  know?"  answered  George,  ironically. 
"  You  are  perhaps  in  fear  for  him.  You  are  right  to  be 
so.  I  am  a  dead  shot,  and  can  use  my  sword  fairly  well. 
I  vow  to  you  that  I  will  not  be  too  gentle  with  this  noble 
marquis  from  across  the  sea,  who  affects  to  treat  France 


THE  felon's  bequest.       '  145 

as  a  conquered  country,  and  our  women  as  if  they  were 
purchased  slaves,  that  he  could  trample  on  as  he  liked. 
Is  it  his  high  position  or  the  lofty  aii-s  he  gives  himself 
that  have  pleased  you,  or  is  it  the  magniiicence  of  his 
mansion  that  has  turned  your  head  ?  " 

"  Do  not  say  such  cruel  things,"  faltered  Oecile;  "  you 
knoAv  that  I  despise  him,  and  that  I  love  you." 

"  You  love  me !  "  exclaimed  George,  drawing  her  to 
him.  "  It  is  the  first  time  that  you  have  ever  told  me  so. 
I  will  believe  you  when  j'ou  prove  it  to  me.  I  am  sure 
if  I  were  youi-  husband  I  should  be  unable  to  resist  your 
entreaties  !  " 

CecUe  closed  his  mouth  with  a  kiss.  Once  more  their  lips 
met  in  a  burning,  passionate  kiss,  as  they  had  met  before 
on  the  stej)  of  the  ruined  house ;  but  this  time  Cecile  did  - 
not  take  him  for  another,  and  knew  that  she  was  clasped 
in  the  arms  of  a  man  that  she  loved  \vith  all  her  soul. 
The  past  was  all  forgotten  in  the  mutual  transports  of 
their  love,  and  the  thought  of  those  degraded  beings  who 
had  plotted  against  their  happiness  passed  completely 
away;  they  lived  only  for  each  other. 

That  night  Josephine  waited  vainly  for  the  return  of 
her  mistress  to  Belleville. 


146  THE  felon's  bequest. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A     PENNY-A-LINER. 

Happiness  drives  away  gloomy  thoughts — makes  the 
heart  joyous.  For  the  past  few  days  Cransac  had  been 
the  happiest  of  men.  Life  looked  bright,  and  he  firmly 
believed  that  all  his  troubles  were  at  an  end. 

There  was  to  be  no  more  doubt,  no  more  hesitation. 
He  was  no  longer  going  to  hide  his  riches  from  anyone, 
not  even  from  Cecile  Cambremer,  who  had  promised,  after 
much  hesitation,  to  share  his  wealth  with  him.  She  under- 
stood that  by  remaining  separated  from  him  she  would 
always  be  exposed  to  the  attacks  of  her  cowardly  enemies; 
and  she  loved  George  too  well  to  refuse  to  agree  to  his 
wish,  that  she  should  never  leave  him.  She  had,  however, 
stipulated  that  she  should  still  continue  the  business  which 
insured  her  independence. 

She  was  to  direct  the  operations  of  her  workroom  from 
a  distance,  and  Josephine  Sureau  was  to  perform  the 
active  duties  of  overlooker.  The  project  seemed  rather 
impracticable  to  George,  but  he  had  been  induced  to 
assent  to  it. 

He  had  resolved  upon  quite  a  different  class  of  existence 
when  he  had  secured  and  fui-nished  a  fitting  place  of 
abode.  He  was  on  the  lookout  for  one,  and  in  the  mean- 
time Cecile  took  up  her  residence  in  the  Rue  Frochot,  to 
the  utter  bewilderment  of  the  porter,  who  had  been  all 
smiles  and  civility  since  he  had  heard  that  George  was  a 
great  deal  richer  than  his  master,  the  landlord.  The 
lovers  lived  without  a  cloud  to  mar  their  happiness.  They 
took  their  dinner  at  a  restaurant,  the  porter's  wife  looked 
after  the  rooms,  and  all  went  smoothly  and  happily. 

George  told  her  the  whole  story  of  his  arrest,  and  his 
detention  in  Mazas,  but  refrained  from  informing  her 
from  what  source  his  wealth  had  come.  He  repeated  the 
old  story  of  the  anonymous  inheritance,  and  she  believed 
what  he  told  her  implicitly. 

The  gold  and  banknotes  which  George  had  brought 
away  on  his  last  visit  to  the  ruined  house  wei'e  now  sec- 
urely stored  away  in  a  safe,  which  George  had  purchased, 


THE  felon's  bequest.  147 

and  wliich  was  fii-mly  secured  to  the  floor  of  the  bed- 
chamber, where  a  safe  had  never  been  seen  before,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  those  who  had  previously  occupied 
the  room  had  never  possessed  anything  worth  putting 
under  lock  and  key. 

G-eorge,  the  first  time  that  CecUe  was  absent  for  a  short 
time,  had  removed  to  his  present  abode  all  his  wealth,which 
he  had  temporarily  placed  in  the  wardrobe  at  the  Grand 
Hotel.  He  had  not  said  a  word  to  her  regarding  his  inten- 
tion to  build  at  Montmartre :  but  he  had  concluded  his  bar- 
gain for  the  land,  and  it  was  now  in  course  of  being  sur- 
rounded by  a  hoarding,  which  would  prevent  robbers  and 
loafers  from  entering  the  place.  Therefore,  George  had 
no  real  cause  for  anxiety  of  any  description.  He  heard 
no  more  of  Simancas  and  his  vile  accomplices;  the 
failiu'e  of  their  plot  must  have  discouraged  them,  and 
it  would  have  been  foUy  to  have  thrown  himself  in  their 
way.  "  Let  sleeping  dogs  lie,"  is  an  old  saving,  and  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  a  very  sensible  one.  Cransac 
hoped  never  to  find  them  in  his  path,  for  he  might  be 
tempted  to  forget  himself,  and  disastrous  results  might 
follow.  Chance  had  also  smiled  upon  him,  by  deliver- 
ing him  from  another  source  of  anxiety. 

The  fair  of  Montmartre  was  over,  and  the  men  of  the 
shows  had  packed  up  their  abodes,  and  betaken  them- 
selves, with  their  performers  and  wild  beasts,  to  other 
parts  of  France,  and  so  Cransac  was  no  longer  apprehen- 
sive of  meeting  ComeUan,  who,  he  presumed,  had  gone 
oflf  like  the  rest.  He  had  entirely  forgotten  that  at 
Valbrec's  dinner  some  of  the  better  informed  among  the 
guests  had  mentioned  that  the  Lion  Queen  of  the  Boule- 
vard de  Clichy  was  about  to  make  her  first  appearance 
at  one  of  the  Paris  theatres,  whilst  he  thought  that  she 
was  far  away  giving  her  performances  in  some  provincial 
fair.  He  had  not  given  up  all  idea  of  a  joumaHstic 
career,  for  Cecile,  who  dreaded  the  effects  of  idleness 
upon  her  lover,  urged  him  to  seek  for  some  opening  in 
the  literary  world,  and  he  felt  no  disinclination  to  follow 
her  advice.  Since  Cecile  had  given  herself  up  to  him,  he 
had  neglected  all  his  former  friends;  and  Valbrec,  who 
was  much  occupied,  hardly  noticed  the  disappearance  of 
his  young  friend.  Of  all  those  who  had  assembled  round 
that  merry  dinner  table,  Lourdier  was  the  only  one  that 


148  THE  felon's  bequest. 

Cransac  liad  met  again.  He  liad  gone  witli  him  to  the 
to  the  notary  to  settle  about  the  property  at  Montmartre, 
and  had  also  called  upon  him  to  pay  him  the  money  that 
he  had  lost  at  cards. 

Cransac  desired  to  be  absent  from  Cecile's  side  as  little 
as  possible;  and  it  was  she  who,  with  a  true  woman's 
instinct,  understood  that  to  make  love  endure  for  ever  it 
was  not  good  to  be  always  together.  One  fine  morning 
after  breakfast  she  proposed  a  new  arrangement  for  the 
day.  She  had  resolved  to  go  alone  to  the  workroom  to 
give  her  orders  to  Josephine,  whilst  George  should  go  to 
the  office  of  the  newspaper  upon  which  Valbrec  was 
employed,  and  endeavor  to  enter  into  some  definite  ar- 
rangement for  employment  with  him.  George  was  to 
spend  the  morning  at  the  office,  and  meet  Cecile  for  din- 
ner at  the  Cafe  Anglais,  after  which  they  were 
to  go  to  the  theatre.  On  that  evening  a  new  piece 
was  to  be  played  at  the  Porte  Saint  Martin  Theatre, 
and  Cecile,  who  had  never  been  to  a  first  performance, 
was  most  anxious  to  be  present.  It  had  been  settled  that 
George  should  go  and  secure  seats,  if  there  were  any 
still  vacant,  and  after  a  tender  farewell  the  lovers  separ- 
ated. The  office  of  the  newspaper  was  on  the  mezzanine 
floor  of  a  house  in  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  and  as  Val- 
brec was  never  there  before  three  o'clock,  George  had 
plenty  of  time  in  which  to  go  to  the  theatre,  which  he  did, 
leisurely  smoking  a  cigar  on  the  way.  Upon  his  arrival 
at  the  box  office  he  was  informed  that  there  was  not  a 
seat  in  anj  portion  of  the  house  available;  and  yet,  after 
all,  it  was  only  one  of  those  spectacular  pieces,  a  mere 
extravaganza,  with  plenty  of  ballet,  certainly  not  a  work  of 
any  literary  merit,  and  yet  all  Paris  was  in  a  f  ennent  to  be 
present  at  it.  George  did  not  care  a  bit  what  they  were 
playing,  he  had  not  even  read  the  posters;  but,  as  Cecile 
had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  it,  he  was  much  annoyed  at 
not  being  able  to  gratify  the  first  wish  she  had  expressed. 
In  Paris,  however,  everything  can  be  obtained  for  money. 
As  Cransac  was  leaving  the  box  office  he  was  accosted  on 
the  pavement  by  an  individual  with  a  red  scarf  round  his 
neck,  who  offered  to  sell  him  a  ticket  for  one  of  the  stage 
boxes  for  two  hundred  francs.  Since  George  had  stilled 
the  admonitions  of  his  conscience,  he  did  not  at  all  care 
what  money  he  spent.    He  therefore  followed  the  man 


TSE  FELOK*S  BEQTTEST.  149 

into  a  neighboring  wine  shop,  and  the  bargain  was  con- 
cluded over  the  counter.  Two  hundred  francs  was  a 
large  sum  to  pay  for  a  box,  and  Cecile  would  have  been 
the  first  to  blame  him  had  she  known  that  he  had  done 
so,  but  he  resolved  that  he  would  say  nothing  to  her 
about  the  price,  and  was  only  too  delighted  at  being  able 
to  gratify  her  wishes  at  any  cost. 

After  completing  this  stroke  of  business,  George  turned 
back  to  the  office  of  the  paper,  and  was  ushered  into 
Valbrec's  sanctum,  a  little  ill-furnished  den  opening  into 
the  public  room,  where  visitors  were  continually  coming 
and  going.  Yalbrec  was  just  commencing  his  society 
jottings,  but  he  was  quite  willing  to  put  by  his  work  for 
a  moment,  for  he  was  not  one  of  those  who  are  too  fond 
of  work;  besides,  he  was  really  pleased  to  see  George 
once  more. 

"  "Where  the  deuce  have  you  been  hiding  yourself  since 
our  dinner  at  Brebant's  ?"  cried  he.  "  I  began  to  ask 
myself  if  you  had  not  gone  back  to  London  to  collar  the 
rest  of  the  money  that  fell  on  you  from  the  skies." 

"No,"  returned  George,  who  did  not  care  for  too  many 
questions  regarding  his  wonderful  heritage.  "I  have 
not  had  to  cross  the  channel  again.  My  banker  has  made 
me  a  remittance  and  all  my  business  is  now  settled. 

"  Bravo  !  Tour  fortune  will  be  better  invested  here  in 
France,  where  you  have  it  in  your  own  hands."  Then,  as 
George  seated  himself  at  the  ink-stained  table,  at  which 
he  had  been  writing,  he  continued:  "I  heard  of  j'ou 
from  Lourdier.  It  seems  that  he  landed  you  over  the 
ground  at  Montmartre." 

"  Yes,  though  I  did  not  much  fancy  the  bargain.  I  let 
myself  be  inveigled  into  it." 

"  He  tells  me  that  you  are  going  to  build  there  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  made  up  my  mind  about  that." 

"  I  adA-ise  you  to  look  twice  before  you  do.  Lourdier 
is  a  very  good  fellow,  but  he  is  shrewder  than  you  are, 
and  if  you  go  in  for  building  from  the  plans  of  his  friend 
Thomas,  you  will  be  plucked  pretty  bare.  Take  some 
comfortable  rooms  in  a  good  part  of  the  to^^^l." 

"  I  am  looking  for  some." 

"Yeiy  good.  Make  yourself  comfortable  in  them,  and 
don't  take  all  the  responsibility  and  expense  of  a  house 


150  THE  felon's  BEQtEST. 

on  your  shoulders.  Spend  your  money  on  yourself,  my 
boy,  not  in  rent  and  taxes,  and  servants." 

"  I  agree  with  you  entirely." 

"  Well,  now  tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing  with 
yourself  since  the  last  day  we  met.  I  hope  that  you 
have  not  begun  to  play  again.  Ecarte  does  not  agree 
with  }^ou,  and  the  next  time  you  may  not  get  off  for  a 
few  thousand  francs." 

"  Where  could  I  have  played  ?  I  don't  belong  to  any 
club  now  ?  " 

"  No  more  do  you,"  answered  Valbrec,  who  recollected 
too  late  the  insulting  manner  in  which  George  had  been 
treated  in  the  Rue  Volney.  "  Let  us  talk  of  something 
else.  You  have,  I  hope,  given  up  the  idea  of  sending  in 
copy?" 

"  Well,  no;  I  came  here  expressly  to  ask  you  if  I  could 
be  of  any  use  here." 

"  You  have  plenty  of  talent  and  intelligence,  but  that 
is  practically  saying  nothing." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  general  talent  in  no  particular  line 
is  not  adapted  to  journalism.  To  succeed  you  must  have 
a  special  aptitude,  and  I  cannot  see  that  you  possess 
this." 

"  You  spoke  to  me  of  writing  paragraphs." 

"  If  you  fancy  doing  so  you  can  try,  but  I  predict  that 
you  will  soon  grow  weary  of  it.  If  you  were  poor,  and 
had  to  stniggle  for  a  living,  you  might  perhaps  succeed; 
but  a  man  only  arrives  at  the  goal  of  success  when  he  is 
spurred  on  by  necessity,  and  between  ourselves,  old 
man,  an  amateur  journalist  isn't  up  to  much.  I  know 
that  they  are  not  much  gi-eater  fools  than  the  others.  We 
make  use  of  them  by  sending  them  into  society  to  report, 
because  they  know  how  to  dress  and  behave.  Journalism 
resembles  diplomacy;  to  succeed  in  it  you  must  be  bom 
to  it." 

"  Why  do  you  endeavor  to  discourage  me  ?  " 

"You  are  in  error;  I  only  want  to  open  your  eyes. 
Come,  do  you  want  to  wi-ite  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
yourself  in  print?' 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Or  for  the  sake  of  '  interviewing  political  and  literary 
celebrities  ?' " 


a?fiE  felon's  bequest.  151 

«  still  less  so." 

"  Then  rest  satisfied  with  enjoying  your  fortune,  and 
if  the  mania  for  ■s\Titing  seizes  upon  you,  write  a  book. 
That  will  fill  up  your  time,  and  after  all  you  may  have 
something  in  you;  but  don't  try  to  get  on  a  paper." 

"  You  spoke  to  me  quite  in  a  different  tone  when  I  met 
you  after  my  mishap." 

"Because  then  you  were  absolutely  without  resources, 
and  poverty  works  wonders.  But  now  that  you  are  roll- 
ing in  money,  if  you  try  to  write  you  will  lose  time  that 
you  might  use  in  a  better  way.  "Why  do  you  not  look 
out  for  a  nice  girl.  You  will  have  no  trouble  in  finding 
one  a  great  deal  better  than  Juliet  Taupier,  as  I  told 
you  before," 

"  I  have  found  one  already." 

"  "Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?  It  would  have  saved  me 
the  trouble  of  preaching  a  sermon  to  you.  "Well,  amuse 
yourself  in  this  Hfe,  and  leave  conceited  ones  to 
endeavor  to  pass  themselves  off  for  what  they  are  not.  Is 
she  pretty?" 

"  Perfectly  lovely." 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  is  she  that  has  put  it  into  your 
head  to  write  in  the  papers  ? "  asked  Valbrec,  with  a 
smile. 

"  But  she  is  the  one  that  has  done  it,"  answered 
Cransac.     "  She  does  not  wan't  me  to  be  idle." 

"  Good,  idleness  is  the  mother  of  all  the  vices.  The 
lady  is  veiy  sensible,  .but  it  seems  a  strange  idea  on  her 
pai't  to  imagine  that  a  rich  man  like  you  wants  to  work. 
"What  class  of  society  does  she  belong  to  ?  Is  she  a 
literary  lady?     If  so,  I  pity  you." 

"  Not  at  aU.     She  is  an  artificial  flower  maker." 

"  Curious  one  doesn't  often  meet  one  with  such  ideas; 
but  no  matter,  both  of  you  will  soon  lose  this  desire  for 
literary  distinction." 

"  Perhaps;  but  our  connection  is  not  a  slight  one.  "We 
are  going  to  set  up  house  together." 

".^Jie  more  reason  not  to  quarrel,  for  what  you  have 
underttiken  is  a  serious  matter.  You  watch  your  treasure 
carefully,  and  hide  her  from  all  your  friends." 

"  Not  at  all.     You  shall  see  her." 

"  I  shall  be  charmed,  especially  if,  after  having  seen 


152  THE  felon's  bequest. 

her,  you  ■will  permit  me  to  tell  you  my  opinion  of  her 
frankly." 

"I  am  sure  you  can  only  form  a  favorable  one  of  her." 

"  You  lovers  are  always  in  extremes,  and  you  appear  to 
have  gone  in  for  it  seriously.  Don't  be  afraid,  however, 
I  am  not  going  to  undertake  to  cure  you;  indeed,  I  should 
only  give  myself  useless  trouble.  Go  on,  dear  boy,  only 
don't  run  into  any  foolishness  for  her.  All  these  romances 
come  to  an  end  somehow,  and  it  is  the  woman  who  takes 
upon  herself  the  duty  of  untying  the  knot." 

"  Cransac  was  a  little  annoyed  at  hearing  his  old  com- 
rade speak  so  Hghtly  of  Cecile,  and  he  was  about  to  pro- 
test that  this  was  not  a  mere  passing  fancy,  when  he  saw 
Valbrec  beckoning  to  some  one  who  had  just  entered  the 
adjoining  room,  the  door  into  which  had  remained  open. 
"  Forgive  me,"  said  he,  "  but  I  have  taken  the  sub-editor's 
place  to-day,  who  is  away  goodness  knows  on  what  busi- 
ness, and  I  have  to  look  after  the  paper."  Then,  tur^iing 
to  the  new  comer,  he  cried  out:  "  Come  in  my  dear 
Saintonge,  don't  put  yourself  out;  this  is  a  friend  of 
mine  who  is  with  me.  What  interesting  items  ha^  e  you 
brought  me  ?  " 

The  man  he  had  called  came  in,  and  Cransac  saw  a 
young  fellow  shabbily  dressed,  his  features  as  much  worn 
as  his  coat,  but  still  shrewd  and  intelligent-looking. 
"  Cransac,"  said  Valbrec,  "  peimit  me  to  introduce  you  to 
our  head  reporter."  Cransac  bowed,  and  prepared 
to  take  his  departure. 

"  I  have  two  matters,"  returned  Saintonge,  "  a  big  one 
and  a  little  one.  They  are  not  quite  fresh,  but  I  am  the 
only  one  who  has  got  hold  of  them." 

"  Let  us  hear  what  they  are,"  said  Valbrec. 

"  First,  a  fire  in  the  Avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 
The  conflagration  broke  out  in  a  detached  building,  which 
burnt  like  a  box  of  matches — not  government  matches, 
you  understand." 

"  But,  Saintonge,  that  has  been  in  all  the  papers.  It  is 
a  very  stale  piece  of  news." 

"Wait  a  bit;  the  papers  all  attributed  it  to  an  act  of 
negligence  on  the  j)art  of  a  servant,  who  held  a  candle 
too  near  some  lace  curtains.  Well,  they  are  wrong;  the 
place  was  set  on  fire  on  purpose  by  a  woman." 

"  Look  here,  you  are  telling  me  some  made-up  yam  that 


THE  felon's  bequest.  153 

will  land  us  in  an  action  for  libel.  Axe  you  sure  of  tlie 
facts  of  the  case  ?" 

"  I  had  them  from  the  servant  who  was  discharged  on 
account  of  the  accident." 

"  Did  he  mention  the  woman's  name  ?  " 

*'  No,  he  had  never  seen  her  before,  but  the  story  he 
told  was  a  funny  one.  A  girl  had  been  decoyed  to  the 
house,  and  in  saving  herself  from  the  violence  of  the 
master  had  set  fire  to  the  place,  and  that  was  why  the 
marquis  had  not  given  her  in  charge." 

"  \Vhat  marquis  ?  " 

"  General,  the  Marquis  of  Simancas,  the  man  who  has 
that  fine  house  at  the  comer  of  the  Rue  Pergolese. 
The  house  narrowly  escaped  being  burnt  down,  and  the 
hidalgo  being  roasted." 

"  Hulloa  !  "  exclaimed  Valbrec,  looking  atCransac,  "that 
is  your  man,  my  dear  fellow." 

"  Does  the  gentleman  know  the  marquis?"  asked  Saint- 
onge. 

"  Very  slightly,"  returned  George,  very  much  vexed. 

"  You  know  enough  of  him  not  to  like  him  much,"  re- 
turned Valbrec,  "  and  here  is  an  excellent  opportvmity 
for  you  to  pay  ofif  yoiu'  grudge.  Shall  I  give  him  a  first- 
class  slating  in  to-morrow's  issue  ?  It  will  please  our 
readers,  for  they  all  detest  these  insolent  foreigners. 
Saintonge  can  begin  this  evening  by  a  few  carefidly  con- 
sidered lines,  which  he  can  slip  in  amongst  the  events  of 
the  day. 

"  *  Great  scandal  in  a  princely  abode  in  the  Avenue  du 
Bois  de  Boulogne.  Commencement  of  a  drama  which 
may  be  played  out  in  a  court  of  justice,  in  camera.'  Next 
day  I  will  write  a  scathing  article  on  the  disreputable 
class  of  foreigners  who  now  infest  Paris,  and  if  Simancas 
comes  here  to  ask  for  an  explanation,  I  will  receive  him; 
unless,  indeed,  you  would  like  to  take  that  duty  on  your- 
self ?  " 

Cransac  was  in  no  hurry  to  reply,  for  two  separate 
feehngs  were  contending  in  his  bosom;  on  one  side  he 
was  rejoiced  to  find  an  unbiassed  witness  confirm  the 
recital  of  Cecile  Carabremer;  and,  on  the  other,  he  did 
not  wish  his  friend  Valbrec  to  make  a  violent  attack  upon 
Simancas  in  his  paper.  The  marquis  had  kept  silence  on 
an  adventure  in  which  he  had  not  played  a  very  distin- 


154  THE  felon's  bequest. 

guished  part,  but  if  he  were  puslied  hard,  he  might 
accuse  Cecile  of  having  set  fire  to  his  house,  and  swear 
that  she  had  come  there  of  her  own  accord. 

"  Well,"  said  Valbrec,  "  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  should  prefer  another  mode  of  revenge.  I  have  a 
personal  quarrel  with  the  man " 

"  And  you  would  rather  take  your  own  method  of  re- 
venge? Perhaps  you  are  right,  and  the  paper  would 
have  a  chance  of  losing  the  case.  The  servant  who  gave 
Saintonge  the  information  would  very  likely  leave  us  in 
the  lurch  at  the  last  moment.  We  should  never  be  able 
to  find  the  woman  who  had  been  insulted  and  Simancas 
would  get  damages  and  costs  against  us.  No,  we  will 
say  nothing  more.  We  have  noticed  the  conflagration, 
and  we  will  say  nothing  about  the  incendiary,  or  what  is 
hidden  in  the  background." 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  muttered  the  reporter. 

"  And  now  for  the  second  item  of  news  that  you  have 
brought  me,  my  dear  Saintonge." 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THK   MTJRDER   AT    MONTMARTEE. 

"  That  is  a  more  serious  matter.  It  is  about  the  man 
who  was  murdered  the  other  day  on  the  Hill  of  Mont- 
martre." 

At  this  unexpected  announcement  George  turned 
deadly  pale.  It  seemed  as  if  this  collector  of  accidents 
and  offences  w^ould  never  have  ceased  darting  poisoned 
arrows  at  him.  The  murdered  man  was  doubtless  the 
scoundrel  that  George  had  struck  down  on  the  night  of 
his  last  visit  to  his  treasure.  His  recent  happiness  had 
almost  made  him  forget  this  tragic  adventure,  and  if  he 
did  occasionally  think  of  it  he  did  so  without  any  feel- 
ings of  remorse,  as  it  was  a  legitimate  case  of  self-defence, 
and  he  hoped  that  the  world  of  Paris  would  not  occupy 
itself  much  vnth.  an  occurrence  which  was  so  constantly 
to  be  seen  in  the  columns  of  the  joiu-nals.  And  now  this 
unpleasant  history  was  all  at  once  recalled  to  him  by  a 


THE  felon's  bequest.  155 

man  whose  profession  it  was  to  sliow  up  such  events  in  a 
manner  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  the  pubHc." 

"  Pooh  !  "  returned  Valbrec,  "  a  loafer  about  the  out- 
skirt  knocked  on  the  head  in  a  drunken  row  by  one  of 
his  companions.    That  is  not  very  interesting,  Saintonge." 

"  I  thought  as  you  did  at  first,  but  I  have  changed  my 
mind  since  I  heard  some  unexpected  news  at  the  inquest. 
The  police  think  that  they  have  got  a  clue." 

"  A  clue  to  what  ?  " 

"  To  this.  As  there  were  no  papers  on  the  dead  man, 
he  was  taken  to  the  Morgue,  and  in  three  days  the  body 
"was  recognized.  He  was  a  convict  who  had  just  come 
out  of  the  Central  Pi-ison  at  Melun,  after  having  done 
seven  years." 

A  feeling  of  relief  passed  through  George's  heart 
when  he  heard  that  the  man  he  had  killed  was  after  all  a 
mere  malefactor." 

"  The  rogue,"  continued  Saintonge,  "  had  been  sen- 
tenced for  complicity  in  a  robbery  which  made  some  little 
noise  in  its  day  from  its  extent  and  audacity:  the  safe  of 
a  banker  in  the  Rue  du  Faubourg  Poissoniere  was  taken 
away  one  night,  and  carried  no  one  knew  where.  Tbei'e 
must  have  been  three  men  at  least  engaged  in  the  busi- 
ness, and  the  messenger  of  the  bank  was  their  accom- 
plice. The  latter  has  never  been  heard  of,  and  they  only 
managed  to  arrest  one  of  the  thieves,  a  man  named 
Mahossier,  in  whose  possession  five  rolls  of  gold  coin 
were  found,  which  were  recognized  by  the  banker  from 
their  being  wrapped  up  in  green  paper.  Mahossier  is 
the  fellow  who  has  just  been  made  away  with  on  the  Hill 
of  Montmartre." 

"  This  is  serious,"  remarked  Valbrec.  "  Let  us  hear 
the  end  of  it" 

George  said  nothing,  but  he  was  struck  with  the  men- 
tion of  the  green  paper,  and  he  redoubled  his  attention. 

"  The  end  is  that  the  police  hope  to  discover  the  safe. 
Mahossier  was  killed  in  an  open  garden,  where  he  was 
either  going  to  or  coming  from  a  ruined  house,  which 
formerly  belonged  to  the  banker  upon  whom  the  robbery 
was  committed.  It  seems  the  safe  held  over  two  millions, 
and  its  loss  ruined  the  owner  of  it.  The  question  is 
what  Mahossier  was  doing  ou  this  spot,  to  which  he  can- 


156  THE  felon's  bequest. 

not  have  come  alone,  since  he  had  been  killed  by  the 
blow  of  a  stick " 

"  Given  by  a  fellow  of  his  own  stamp,  who  will  never 
be  seen  again.  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  if  this  is  your 
famous  bit  of  news " 

"  They  will  very  likely  not  find  the  murderer,  but  they 
may  discover  the  treasure." 

"  What  treasure  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  safe  that  was  stolen  seven  years  ago.  It  is 
suspected  that  the  robbers  buried  it  in  this  garden." 

"  Of  course  they  may  have  done  so,  but  it  is  a  deuce  of 
a  long  way  from  the  Faubourg  Poissoniere  to  the  top  of 
the  Hill  of  Mohtmartre;  and  if  they  did  so,  I  should  think 
that  they  would  have  emptied  it  first." 

"  It  is  supposed  that  they  had  very  little  time  after  the 
robbery,  for  immediately  after  it  had  taken  place  they 
were  sentenced  to  long  terms  of  imprisonment  for  other 
crimes,  so  that  they  had  to  wait  for  their  liberation  before 
they  could  dig  it  up.  It  has  therefore  been  decided  to 
make  a  thorough  search  of  the  premises." 

"  Two  millions  are  worth  looking  for." 

"  The  banker  would  be  pleased  if  tTiey  were  found." 

"No;  he  is  dead.  It  appears  that  he  committed  suicide 
when  he  became  insolvent." 

"But  I  suppose  he  left  some  heirs;  and  I  hear  that  he 
has  left  plenty  of  creditors,  and  they  would  be  delighted 
to  get  hold  of  the  money.  The  search  will  begin  to-morrow, 
and  it  would  be  interesting  to  be  present  at  it." 

"So  it  would." 

"  Besides,  our  paper  would  be  the  first  in  the  field,  for 
I  am  the  only  one  that  knows  all  about  the  matter." 

"  Bravo,  my  dear  fellow.  You  have  a  week's  work  before 
you  at  the  very  least,  and  can  send  in  plenty  of  copy,  for 
they  won't  find  the  safe  at  the  first  go  off.  Ah !  if  we  could 
only  get  hold  of  another  affair  like  the  Tropmann  murder. 
That  was  a  magnificent  piece  of  business;  they  found  a 
fresh  body  CA^ery  eight  days.  We  brought  out  drawings 
representing  the  pick-axe  and  the  shovel  which  the  mur- 
derer had  used  to  dig  the  graves  with.  Our  sale  went 
up  ten  thousand  a  day." 

"  We  shan't  have  such  luck  as  that.  TrojDmanns  are 
rare  unfortunately;  they  only  occur  once  in  a  century. 
But  I  will  engage  to  get  aU  I  can  out  of  this  business." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  157 

"  "Well,  I  rely  upon  you.     Go  to  work  boldly." 

"Be  easy  on  that  head;  I  won't  miss  a  single  perform- 
ance, and  will  make  the  thing  go.  The  most  curious  thing 
about  it  is  that  the  land  belonged  to  a  business  man,  who 
gave  it  to  our  advertisement  agent  to  seU  for  him." 

"  What,  Lourdier  ?  " 

"  Just  so ;  if  he  had  only  known  that  there  was  a  gold 
mine  underneath  it,  eh  1 " 

"  But  here,  George,"  cried  Valbrec,  "why,  Lourdier  has 
sold  the  laud  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  if  it  is  the  same  bit  of  land,"  answered 
George,  whose  feelings  it  would  be  difficult  to  describe. 

"  The  land  that  I  am  speaking  of,  "  said  Saintonge,  "  is 
bounded  on  one  sidFby  tlie  Rue  Gabrielle,  and  runs  up 
the  hill  to  the  Place  de  Tertre,  near  the  Church  of  Mont- 
martre.  There  is  a  brick  building  in  it,  that  is  falling  to 
pieces  rapidly." 

"  Is  that  yours  ?  "  asked  Valbrec. 

"  I  think  it  must  be,"  stammered  George. 

"  You  ought  to  know.  Hang  it  all,  man,  you  didn't  buy 
it  without   seeing  it,  did  you  ?  " 

"  I  saw  very  little  of  it;  besides,  I  don't  know,  after  all, 
whether  I  shall  build  or  not.  I  may  not  even  set  foot  in 
it  again." 

"  Ha,  ha !  And  suppose  they  find  a  treasure,  you  would 
have  a  share  in  it.  According  to  law,  unless  I  am  deceived 
the  owner  has  a  right  to  a  third  of  the  sum  found." 

"Yes,  when  there  is  no  owner  for  the  money;  but  you 
say  that  this  is  stolen  property,  and  you  may  be  sure  that 
a  claim  will  be  put  in  for  it." 

"  Besides,  you  don't  want  it;  but  there  it  is  just  like 
your  luck  to  buy  a  piece  of  land  and  find  a  treasure 
buried  in  it !  " 

George  did  not  think  much  of  his  luck;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  considered  that  he  had  attained  to  the  pitch  of 
misfortune  in  having  attracted  the  attention  of  the  police 
to  the  house  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle,  by  unfortunately  kill- 
ing a  rogue  in  self-defence,  though  he  might  have  known 
that  an  inquest  invariably  follows  when  a  dead  body  is 
found  bearing  traces  of  violence.  But  even  had  he 
thought  of  this,  who  would  have  supposed  that  this  had 
anything  to  do  with  a  robbery  committed  seven  years 
before  ?    He  had  felt  quite  secure  that  no  one  would 


158  THE  felon's  bequest. 

accuse  him  of  having  murdered  a  criminal  who  he  had 
never  seen  before  that  night,  and  he  had  hoped  that  all 
efforts  to  find  the  murderer  would  be  speedily  abandoned. 
But  the  affair  had  now  assumed  an  entirely  different 
complexion;  the  papers  were  going  to  take  it  up,  and 
would  doubtless  give  it  enormous  publicity.  A  search 
would  doubtless  reveal  the  scene  of  the  hiding-place,  in 
which  a  very  large  sum  still  remained;  a  sum  which  he 
had  not  intended  to  make  use  of,  for  since  his  last  visit 
he  was  sufficiently  wealthy,  but  which  he  certainly  did 
not  wish  anyone  else  to  appropriate.  Of  one  thing  he 
was  almost  sure,  and  that  was  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  implicate  him  in  the  old  story  of  the  bank  robbery; 
and  yet  he  had  cause  for  uneasiness.  The  man  of  the 
exercise-yard  at  Mazas  could  not  denounce  him  as  having 
taken  possession  of  property  knowing  it  to  be  stolen,  for 
he  knew  him  neither  by  name  or  sight.  But  he  might 
make  up  his  mind  to  confess  everything,  and  tell  how  he 
had  thrown  a  note,  containing  full  information  as  to 
where  the  treasure  was,  over  the  w^all  to  another  prisoner. 
"What  had  become  of  the  robber  who  had  signed  his 
name  Pierre  ?  Had  he  been  sentenced,  as  he  expected, 
to  twenty  years'  penal  servitude,  and  already  shipped  off 
to  New  Caledonia  ?  Might  he  not  manage  to  effect  his 
escape  before  embarkation  ?  and  might  he  not,  on  reach- 
ing Paris,  be  retaken  at  any  moment  in  the  ruined  house  ? 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  reporter,  recurring  to  the  sub- 
ject, "  we  have  an  almost  inexhaustible  sensational  topic, 
for  if  the  search  proves  fruitless,  the  police  can  make 
what  they  call  a  '  rat-trap '  of  the  house,  and  the  odds 
are  that  Mahossier's  murderer  will  be  caught  there." 

"  Sarntonge,  my  boy,  you  are  immense,"  cried  Paul 
Valbrec.  ' "  Don't  let  us  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
Simancas  matter.  Occupy  yourself  entirely  with  the 
*  Mystery  of  Montmartre  ' — a  good  title,  eh  ?  " 

"  Excellent;  and  now,  if  you  have  no  more  need  of  me, 
I  will  get  back  to  the  police-station,"  said  the  reporter. 

George  was  half  inclined  to  ask  him  a  few  questions, 
but  he  did  not  dare  do  so,  for  fear  of  letting  him  see  the 
interest  he  took  in  the  matter;  but  Saintonge  reheved 
him  from  his  perplexity. 

"  If,  sir,"  said  the  reporter,  who  was  anxious  to  make 
himself  agreeable  to  any  friend  of  Valbrec's,  "  you  would 


THE  felon's  bequest.  159 

care  to  follow  the  operations  of  the  police,  I  can,  I  think, 
obtain  permission  to  take  you  with  me,  as,  in  yoiu*  posi- 
tion as  owner,  you  have  certainly  a  right  to  be  present  at 
the  search  on  your  own  property." 

"  I  should  go,  if  I  were  you,"  exclaimed  Yalbrec. 

"  I  don't  say  that  I  v,nR  not  avail  myself  of  your  offer," 
said  George,  "  for  I  am  anxious  to  know  the  details  of 
the  robbery,  which  is  the  point  from  whence  this  strange 
story  starts,  and  with  which  I  never  was  acquainted 
before." 

"  Because  you  were  too  young.  You  could  scarcely 
have  left  school  at  the  time.  I,  who  am  older  than  you, 
recollect  it,  but  not  perfectly;  but  I  can  get  you  all  the 
information  that  you  require.  AU  I  have  to  do  is  to  send 
some  one  to  the  National  Library  to  consult  the  back 
numbers  of  the  Gazette  des  Tribunaux  for  the  years  '77  and 
'78.  My  man  can  take  notes,  and  you  can  learn  all  you 
want.  He  can  tell  you  the  exact  date  of  the  crime,  and 
the  name  of  the  banker  who  was  plundered." 

"  As  for  the  name,"  broke  in  Valbrec,  "  you  have  only 
to  ask  Lourdier,  who  ought  to  know  it,  as  he  is  the 
representative  of  one  of  the  creditors  of  the  bankruptcy." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that.  When  Lotirdier  sold  me  the 
land  there  was  no  question  of  this  strange  affair.  But  I 
need  not  ask  him,  since  this  gentleman  has  been  good 
enough  to  say  that  he  will  furnish  me  with  all  the  details." 

"  Just  as  you  hke.  Well,  good-bye,  Saintonge.  I  shall 
be  here  until  five  o'clock,  so  don't  be  later  than  that,  if 
you  come  back  to-day." 

The  reporter  took  his  leave  without  ever  having  sat 
down,  for  it  is  the  nature  of  his  tribe  to  be  always  in  a 
hurry.  George,  too,  was  anxious  to  get  away,  for  he  was 
not  in  the  humor  to  carry  on  a  gay  conversation;  but 
Valbrec,  who  was  in  a  mood  for  a  gossip,  did  not  feel 
inclined  to  break  off  the  conversation  that  Saintonge  had 
interrupted. 

"  How  improbable  fact  is,"  cried  he.  "  You  came  here 
to  teU  me  of  your  projects  and  your  love  affairs,  then  that 
capital  fellow  Saintonge  drops  down  upon  us,  and  tells 
us  two  stories,  in  both  of  which  you  are  interested. 
Simancas,  and  your  piece  of  land.  It  seems  as  if  he  had 
done  it  for  the  purjDose." 

"  Oh !"  said  Cransac,  endeavoring  to  assume  an  easy 


160  THE  felon's  bequest. 

air,  "  I  am  not  thinking  now  of  that  blackguard  of  a 
Spaniard;  and  as  for  the  land  I  was  fool  enough  to  buy, 
I  shall  see  it  again  as  little  as  jDOssible,  for  I  don't  care 
about  living  in  a  spot  where  jpeople  are  knocked  on  the 
head." 

"  You  do  not  wish  to  dwell  upon  the  '  theatre  of  the 
tragedy,'  as  the  Public  Prosecutor  would  term  it;  the 
more  so  as  you  are  going  to  set  up  house  with  your  new 
friend,  for  it  might  prevent  your  sleeping.  By-the-way, 
where  have  you  built  your  temporary  nest  ?" 

"  At  my  own  place." 

"  What,  have  you  taken  her  to  the  Grand  Hotel  ?" 

"No;  I  have  gone  back  to  my  old  rooms  in  the  Rue 
Frochot.  But  she  does  not  live  there  entirely;  she  has 
kept  the  apartments  she  had  before,  and  she  goes  there 
every  day;  but,  apart  from  that,  we  are  almost  always 
together." 

"Ah;  that  is  the  usual  commencement;  but  I  am  a  little 
surprised,  for  I  should  have  thought  that  Juliet's  con- 
duct to  you  would  have  given  you  a  distaste  for  women." 

"  Of  women  of  her  stamp,  certainly,  and  I  have  a  per- 
fect horror  of  them ;  but  allow  me  to  remind  you  of  what 
you  said  just  before  the  reporter  came  in  and  interrupted 
us,  and  which  you  had  said  before  when  you  left  me  in 
the  Boulevard  de  Clichy,  upon  the  day  I  had  been  dis- 
charged from  Mazas,  and  had  been  overwhelmed  with 
insults  and  contempt  the  whole  day.  Well,  the  public 
affront  that  that  girl  had  put  on  me  had  determined  me 
to  blow  out  my  brains." 

"  Happily  you  did  not  carry  out  this  fine  idea." 

"  It  was  you  that  made  me  relinquish  it  by  saying: '  Live 
for  some  woman;  all  are  not  Juliet  Taupiers,  and  you 
will  come  across  one  deserving  of  your  love.'  I  quote  your 
own  words  to  you." 

"I  don't  deny  them;  and,  since  you  have  found  your 
dream,  all  is  for  the  best,  for  I  believe  in  true  love,  as  the 
only  thing  to  enable  a  man  to  sail  safely  on  in  the  voyage 
of  life.  Shall  I  be  indiscreet  if  I  ask  you  how  and  wh  ere 
you  met  the  lady  ?" 

"It  was  a  chance  meeting,"  answered  George,  evas- 
ively. 

"  Doubtless  the  incidents  that  decide  our  lives  are  always 
the  offspring  of  chance.     My  life  would  have  been  entirely 


THE  felon's  bequest.  161 

different  if  at  a  certain  hour  of  the  day  I  had  passed 
through  such  and  such  a  street,  but  yet  I  do  not  regret 
having  carried  out  my  destiny.  My  principle  is  always 
to  bow  to  circumstances,  and  therefore  I  am  not  surprised 
at  a  chance  meeting,  and  prophesy  that  good  will  come 
of  it.  All  I  now  ask  is  to  be  introduced  to  this  charming 
personage.  You  promised  me  that  you  would  do  so,  but 
if  you  regret  having  done  so,  I  shall  not  insist  on  it" 

"  I  don't  regret  it  at  aU." 

"Then  when  will  you  introduce  me? " 

As  soon  as  we  sbaU  be  regularly  installed;  and  then 
you  will  always  find  a  place  laid  for  you  at  our  table." 

"Very  good;  and  pray  believe  that  I  shall  often  take 
advantage  of  it — at  least,  if  the  lady  does  not  object." 

"  "What  an  absurd  idea !" 

"My  good  fellow  my  experience  has  shown  me  that 
women  do  not  like  their  lover's  former  friends,  for  they 
distrust,  and  often  with  reason,  the  advice  they  give 
them." 

"  She  knows  that  you  will  give  me  nothing  but  good 
counsel,  and  that  nothing  could  separate  me  from  her. 
You  may  therefore  be  sure  that  she  would  receive  you  as 
she  woiild  my  brother,  if  I  had  one." 

"  Even  when  she  knew  that  I  have  dissuaded  you  from 
becoming  a  journalist,  which  you  tell  me  is  her  latest 
whim?" 

"  And  a  very  reasonable  one.  She  wanted  me  to  have 
some  occupation,  but  I  can  easily  find  other  means  of 
employing  my  time;  and,  besides,  Cecile  will  see  the 
validity  of  the  objections  you  urge." 

"  Ah !  her  name  is  Cecile  is  it  ? — a  very  pretty  name. 
Cecelia  is  the  patron  saint  of  musicians;  is  your  friend 
one?" 

"  Keally,  I  don't  know.  All  I  can  tell  you  is  that 
I  saw  no  piano  in  her  rooms;  perhaps  because  she  had  no 
time  to  play." 

"Well,  don't  buy  her  one,"  said  Valbrec.  "Of  all 
sounds,  music  is  the  most  expensive.  But  let  us  talk 
seriously.  It  is  settled,  then,  that  we  shall  see  each  other 
constantly  when  you  are  definitely  installed,  but  in  the 
meantime  you  must  give  me  an  opportunity  of  making 
Mile.  Cecile 's  acquaintance.     Why  don't  you  bring  her  to 


162  THE  felon's  bequest. 

dine  witli  me  at  a  restaurant  one  of  these  days  ?  Not 
to-night,  for  I  am  going  to  the  theatre." 

"And  so  axe  we." 

"Well,  any  other  night;  you  will  always  find  me  here 
from  five  to  seven.  And  now,  my  dear  fellow,  I  have  an 
article  to  write." 

George  rose  from  his  seat.  "  But  deuce  take  me  if  I  know 
on  what  subject,"  resumed  Valbrec.  "Stay;  I  have  it! 
suppose  I  fall  on  the  police,  who  never  by  any  chance 
discover  the  authors  of  a  crime  ?" 

"  That  is  not  a  very  new  business." 

"  About  the  police,  who,  after  a  lapse  of  seven  years, 
begin  to  look  for  the  robbers  of  two  millions  of  money  !" 

"  I  hope  you  won't  refer  to  that  unpleasant  affair  at 
Montmartre." 

"  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?  In  the  first  place,  I  never 
speak  of  ray  friends  in  the  paper;  and,  besides,  I  know 
how  unpleasant  you  would  find  it  to  have  public  atten- 
tion attracted  to  you.  The  error  which  led  to  your  com- 
mittal to  Mazas  has  been  acknowledged,  but  an  anony- 
mous denunciation  would  lead  to  inquiries  as  to  your 
accession  to  wealth,  and  I  suppose  you  don't  care  about 
having  to  make  a  public  explanation.  By-the-way,  you 
have  not  been  questioned  yet,  have  you  ?" 

"  No." 

"  And  I  do  not  believe  that  you  vnl]  be,  although  all  those 
who  know  you  are  aware  that  you  have  become  a  million- 
aire; besides,  even  if  you  were  questioned,  it  would  be  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world  for  you  to  explain  matters. 
But,  for  all  that-,  it  would  be  better  that  you  should 
not  be  troubled;  and  now,  my  dear  George,  I  won't 
keep  you  any  longer.  I  have  just  time  to  write  my 
article,  and  I  don't  want  to  keep  them  waiting  for  my 
copy." 

George  shook  his  friend's  hand  warmly,  and  left  the 
office,  glad  enough  to  find  himself  alone,  after  a  visit  so 
full  of  unexpected  incident,  which  had  roused  feeUnga 
vnthin  him  which  he  was  compelled  to  conceal. 

When  he  came  to  see  Valbrec,  to  ask  for  some  employ- 
ment on  the  paper,  he  had  not  expected  to  hear  two 
matters  in  both  of  which  he  was  much  interested,  dis- 
cussed, Cecile's  adventure  was  most  satisfactorily  cleared 
up,  but  he  foresaw  that  some  trouble  might  result  from 


THE  felon's  bequest.  163 

Hs  last  nocturnal  visit  to  Montmartre,  and  he  almost 
regretted  that  he  had  consented  to  be  present  at  the 
search  that  the  police  were  about  to  institute  on  the 
morrow;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  curiosity  urged  on  him 
to  assist  at  the  operations.  He  knew  that  nothing  would 
be  found  in  the  garden,  but  the  ruin  would  most  cer- 
tainly be  searched;  the  chances  were  that  the  hiding- 
place  would  be  found,  and  he  was  anxious  to  be  there 
to  see  if  the  piles  of  gold  did  not  conceal  a  decaying 
body,  the  odor  of  which  he  fancied  he  had  perceived  on 
his  first  visit.  But  yet  he  could  not  disguise  the  fact 
that  his  presence  would  draw  upon  him  the  attention  of 
the  police  and  he  sought  in  vain  to  persuade  himself  that 
he  could  avoid  this  danger  by  begging  M.  Saintonge  to 
present  him  as  a  mere  reporter  for  the  press,  and  not  as  the 
actual  owner  of  the  property.  In  this  difficulty  he  could 
not  consult  Cecile,  who  upon  any  other  matter  would 
doubtless  have  given  him  excellent  advice;  but  she 
knew  nothing  of  his  visits  to  Montmartre  the  night  after 
he  had  saved  her  life.  She  did  not  even  know  that  he 
had  bought  the  property,  which  she  must  have  known 
long  before  she  had  met  him,  as  she  had  come  there  from 
Belleville  to  put  an  end  to  her  hfe;  and  as  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  not  to  build  there,  he  resolved  that  he  would 
never  tell  her,  for  he  wished  that  she  should  remain  in 
ignorance  of  the  strange  adventiu-e  which  had  not  only  en- 
riched him,  but  thrown  him  into  a  series  of  the  most  cruel 
perplexities.  He  saw  only  too  plainly  that  he  ran  the 
chance  of  being  accused  of  ha^•ing  had  a  hand  in  a  rob- 
bery, and  of  having  murdered  one  who,  robber  as  he  was, 
was  still  a  man.  As  all  this  turmoil  of  thought  seethed 
and  bubbled  in  his  brain  the  idea  again  came  to  him  that 
if  luck  changed  he  could  still  shoot  himself,  as  he  had 
determined  to  do  on  the  day  he  was  discharged  from  the 
prison  of  Mazas.  He  would  now,  perhaps,  regret  hfe  the 
less,  because  he  had  experienced  the  supreme  happiness 
of  living,  and  being  beloved;  for  before  his  committal  to 
prison  he  had  only  known  a  mere  burlesque  of  love.  All 
that  he  could  do  now  was  to  keep  up  appearances  before 
Cecile,  who  knew  nothing  of  what  was  going  on.  He 
would  have  preferred  not  taking  her  to  the  theatre  that 
evening,  for  he  was  not  in  the  vein  to  amuse  himself 
with   the   magnificent  scenery,   or  the   puns   and  jokes 


164  THE  felon's  bequest. 

of  a  burlesque;  but  he  bad  not  the  courage  to  deprive 
Cecile  of  a  pleasure  which  she  so  ardently  looked  for- 
ward to. 


CHAPTEK  XXIL 

"and  slandeb  with  hbb  venomed  tongub." 

Cransac's  interview  with  Valbrec  had  been  a  long  one, 
and  it  was  now  time  for  him  to  return  to  the  Rue  Frochot, 
where  Cecile  was  to  meet  him.     Night  had  closed  in,  and 
the  lamps  were  lighted  as  George  came  out  on  the  boule- 
vard.    It  was  that  hour  of  the  evening  when  the  loungers 
crowd  the  cafes,  and  the  young  ladies  on  the  prowl  sally 
forth,  trusting  for  lucky  meetings,  or  even  in  quest  of  a 
mere  invitation  to  dinner,  for  after  all  that  is  better  than 
returning  home  hungry.      They  can  be    seen    walking 
along   the  pavement,  casting  smiles    around   them  upon 
the  young  gentlemen  sipping  their  absinthe,  or  upon  the 
older   ones,   taking   a  brisk    walk   to   promote  a  failing 
appetite.     And  yet  the  poor    girls   have    no    cause    for 
smiles  and  laughter,  for  if  they  return  unsuccessful  from 
their  man-hunt  they  will  have  nothing  to  eat,  and  will  be 
beaten  into  the  bargain,  for  Alphonse  is  sitting  at  home 
waiting  for  money,  and  the  bully's  temper  is  not  of  the 
sweetest  when  he  does  not  get  it.     There    are   women 
about  who  could  live,  and  live  well  too,  without  sweeping 
the  muddy  streets  with  their  skirts,  and  who  yet  will  not 
disdain   to   profit  by  what   they   term    an    opportunity. 
These  do  not  stare  into  the  faces  of  the  passer  by,  but 
cast  down  their  eyes  when  a  man  looks  at  them.    A 
young  felloV  from  college  would  be  deceived,  and  a  man 
from  the  coimtry  would  apologize  to  them ;  but,  for  all 
that,  they  take  care  to  turn  down  the   first  street  they 
come  to,  and  slacken  their  pace,  so  that  the  man  whose 
notice  they  have  attracted  may  come  up  with  them,  away 
from  the  glare  and  din  of  tbe  boulevards.     They  make  a 
halt  before   the  shops,  especially   before   those    of   the 
jewelers,  as   it  is  convenient  to  enter  into  conversation 
there  without  people  noticing  them  too  much;  and  then 
— who  can  tell  ? — they  may,  perhaps,  find  some  generous 


THE  felon's  bequest.  165 

being  who  may  open  the  acquaintance  by  the  present  of  a 
ring  or  a  bracelet. 

G-eorge,  however,  was  well  acquainted  with  all  the 
manoeuvres  of  this  class,  and  did  not  think  their  pro- 
ceedings worth  noticing.  He  walked  on  without  looking 
at  anyone,  and  was  about  to  turn  down  the  Rue  Lafitte, 
when  he  involuntary  remarked  a  woman,  with  a  profusion 
of  yellow  hair,  walking  in  front  of  him,  who  had  turned 
round  to  look  at  him  three  or  four  times,  without  his 
being  able  to  see  her  face,  which  was  thickly  veiled.  As 
this  was  one  of  the  usual  performances  of  these  clandest- 
ine wanderers,  it  would  not  have  attracted  his  attention; 
but  the  figure  of  the  woman,  and  the  color  of  her  dyed 
hair,  recalled  to  his  memory  Juliet  Taupier. 

He  could  not,  however,  believe  that  it  was  she.  A 
month  back  she  had  beeu  living  in  good  style  in  a  pretty 
little  house  in  the  Rue  Jouffroy,  and  she  could  hardly 
have  fallen  so  low  in  so  short  a  space.  He  turned  the 
comer  of  the  Maison  Doree,  without  occupying  himself 
any  further  with  this  "  lady  of  the  night,"  who  had  done 
the  same.  She  did  not  go  very  far,  for  after  passing  a 
tobacconist's  some  five  doors  down,  she  turned  sharply 
round,  and,  raising  her  veil,  stood  still  in  the  middle  of 
the  pavement,  so  as  to  bar  his  way.  Cransac  was  about 
to  step  into  the  road  to  avoid  her,  when  she  accosted 
him.  "  Good  evening,  my  little  George,"  said  she, 
softly. 

Cransac  lifted  his  eyes  to  her  face,  and  recognized 
JuHet  Taupier.  "  You  wretched  woman !  "  exclaimed  he; 
"  how  dare  you  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"  Are  you  still  angry  with  me  ?  "  asked  she,  endeavor- 
ing to  take  his  arm. 

He  thrust  her  from  him  so  roughly  that  she  staggered 
back  against  the  street  door  hard  by.  In  an  instant,  he 
regretted  having  done  so,  and  expected  to  hear  a  volley  of 
shrieks,  which  woiild  have  roused  the  neighborhood; 
but  Juliet  contented  herself  with  moaning  out:  "Oh,  my 
dear  George,  do  not  beat  me  1  I  was  wrong  to  say  all  those 
wicked  things  that  I  did  about  you  in  the  booth  at  the  fair 
of  Montmartre;  but — what  shall  I  say? — I  was  so  angry 
because  I  had  been  worried  by  the  police  on  your  accoimt. 
I  have  heard  since  that  it  was  not  your  fault,  and  now  I 
humbly  ask  pardon !  " 


166  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  This  is  too  much,"  muttered  George,  between  his  teeth. 

"  Don't  be  angry,  I  entreat  you,  but  listen  to  me.  If 
you  only  knew  how  unhappy  I  have  been  since  I  lost  you.  I 
I  have  done  nothing  but  cry.  I  should  like  to  tell  you  all  that 
I  have  suffered,  but  I  cannot  here  in  the  street;  take  me 
somewhere  to  dinner."  Then,  as  George  remained  silent, 
utterly  overwhelmed  at  her  impudence,  she  continued,  in 
a  whining  tone  of  voice:  "Oh!  I  have  been  so  unlucky. 
My  furniture  has  been  seized,  and  my  house  sold;  but 
you  will  not  desert  me  who  used  to  be  so  nice  to  you  in 
those  days  when  you  were  not  rolHng  in  gold  as  you  are 
now  1 " 

Now  George  began  to  understand  how  matters  stood. 
The  vile  woman  had  heard  of  his  good  fortune,  and  was  au- 
dacious enough  to  endeavor  to  gain  him  over  once  more.  A 
cold  feeling  of  anger  came  over  him — an  anger  that  left 
him  all  his  judgment  to  treat  her  as  she  deserved.  "  And 
so,"  said  he  harshly,  "  you  have  become  a  mere  street 
walker  ?  " 

Juliet  was  about  to  deny  it,  but  he  cut  her  short 
""\Miat  is  the  good  of  lying;  1  saw  you  just  now  in  the 
boulevard ! " 

"  Well,  and  suppose  I  am,"  returned  she,  "  is  that  a 
reason  for  you  to  look  down  upon  me  ?  There  are  ups 
and  downs  in  a  woman's  life.  Those  who  are  up  in  the 
stirrups  one  day  may  have  to  seek  their  bread  in  the 
streets  the  next:  and,  instead  of  abusing  me,  you  ought 
to  pity  me." 

"  I  might  pity  another  woman  of  your  class,  or  a  dog, 
but  you  I  hate  and  despise.  K I  saw  you  dying  of  hunger 
in  the  gutter,  I  would  not  stretch  out  a  hand  to  help  you." 

"  Ho,  ho !  "  said  Juliet,  in  quite  another  tone  of  voice. 
"  You  have  grown  infernally  insolent  since  you  have  got 
a  httle  money;  fifteen  days  ago  you  were  humble  enough. 
What  did  I  do,  after  all,  when  you  were  with  me  ?  I  was 
unfaithftd  to  you,  I  suppose  you  will  say.  Well,  did  you 
expect,  for  the  few  francs  you  gave  me,  that  I  was  to  be 
yours  entirely?" 

"  What  have  you  done !  "  exclaimed  George,  looking 
at  her  in  a  manner  that  "would  have  made  anyone  with  the 
slightest  feeling  of  shame  sink  into  the  ground.  "  Do 
you  think  that  I  am  going  to  reproach  you  for  having  left 
me  for  that  scoundrel  whom  I  struck  across  the  face  ? 


THE  felon's  bequest.  167 

Why,  you  are  admirably  suited  for  each  other;  but  I  will 
teU  you  what  you  have  done " 

"Go  on,  then;  I  am  anxious  to  hear." 

"  You  sold  and  handed  over  to  Simancas  the  woman  I 
loved." 

"  What — ^you  know  that,  do  you  ?  "  sneered  the  woman, 
who,  now  that  she  had  no  chance  of  getting  hold  of 
George  again,  did  not  care  to  conciliate  him.  "  Pray, 
how  did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  saw  the  letter  that  you  wrote  to  draw  a  young  girl 
into  a  trap." 

"  A  young  girl,  indeed." 

"  Don't  say  a  word  against  her,  or  I  will  twist  your 
neck." 

Juliet  was  frightened,  although  the  street  was  not  by 
any  means  deserted,  for  she  knew  that  George  was  able 
to  strangle  her  before  she  could  utter  a  cry.  "  Yes,"  contin- 
ued George,  coming  up  close  to  her,  "you  sold  her;  and 
it  was  your  pitiful  hound  of  a  lover  who  pointed  her  out 
to  you.  I  will  settle  my  account  with  him  the  first  time  I 
meet  him;  but  as  for  you,  your  destination  is  Saint  Lazare, 
the  prison  for  abandoned  women." 

**  Just  you  try  and  put  me  there,  my  good  feUow  1 " 

"  You  will  go  fast  enough  without  my  sending  you  there, 
and  I  will  not  degrade  myself  by  denouncing  you ;  only 
remember  this,  that  if  you  act  in  any  way-  against  my  wife, 
for  my  wife  she  shall  be  soon " 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  And  so  you  have  made  it  up  with  her 
again,  and  are  going  to  marry  her  into  the  bargain  !  What, 
after  her  little  adventure  with  the  marquis !  Well,  there 
is  not  an  ounce  of  jealousy  about  you,  and  you  have  no 
hesitation  in  taking  up  the  leavings  of  a  generous  gentle- 
man." 

"  What  is  that  you  dare  to  insinuate  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  Simancas  could  tell  you  a  good  deal  about 
your  florist.  She  went  to  his  house,  and  once  there — well, 
the  marquis  is  not  a  man  to  let  anything  stand  between 
him  and  his  whims ;  and,  prude  as  she  may  have  been,  it 
was  the  same  with  her  aa  with  the  rest  of  them." 
"  You  lie !  " 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  she  told  you  quite  a  different  story. 
Perhaps  that  she  set  fire  to  the  liouse  to  escape  from  the 
clutches  of  the  marquis."  < 


168  THE  felon's  bequest. 

This  blow  struck  home,  and  Juliet  had  shown  her  sense 
in  speaking  of  the  conflagration.  That  there  had  been  one 
was  certain,  but  had  Cecile  lighted  it  in  her  endeavor  to 
preserve  her  honor  ? 

"Ah,  ha !  "  sneered  Juliet,  "I  see  it  all.  She  told  you 
that  she  had  risked  being  burnt  in  defence  of  her  virtue. 
"Well,  I  was  not  there  myself,  but  Simancas's  housekeeper 
told  me  exactly  what  really  happenend  to  our  fine  friend 
was  shut  up  with  Simancas  for  an  hour.  I  can't  say  what 
took  place.  She  may  have  scratched  him  for  all  I  know; 
he  likes  that  sort  of  thing.  But  of  one  thing  you  may  be 
sure :  he  attained  his  end.  The  place  was  set  on  fire  a  little 
too  late,  my  friend,  and  she  was  very  foolish  to  do  it,  for 
it  has  made  Simancas  very  angry.  He  was  ready  to  do  a  lot 
for  her,  and  now  he  never  wishes  to  see  her  face  again. 
That  is  all.  When  you  Uke  you  can  go  and  order  a  wreath 
of  orange  blossoms,  if  your  heart  urges  you  to  do  so;  but 
remember  what  I  have  told  you,  and  remember  later  on 
that  you  may  be  sorry  for  the  act  of  folly  you  say  you  are 
going  to  commit." 

George  was  tortured  with  suspicions,  but  he  would  not 
for  a  moment  discuss  the  question  with  the  vile  woman 
who  stood  before  him,  nor  would  he  deny  the  assertions 
that  he  did  not  desire  to  believe.  He  could,  however,  now 
that  he  had  the  chance,  tell  Juliet  plainly  the  opinion  he 
had  of  her.  "Be  silent,"  cried  he;  "you  are  a  viper  that 
I  ought  to  crush  beneath  my  feet." 

"  Not  here,  my  good  fellow," sneered  Juliet;  "they  would 
lock  you  up  if  you  tried  to  do  so.  Besides,  you  are  wrong 
to  be  angry,  for  all  that  I  have  told  you  is  for  your  good; 
and  you  are  wrong,  too,  to  bear  malice,  because  I  sent  the 
girl  to  the  Rue  Pergolese  to  make  some  money,  for  I  did 
not  then  know  that  you  had  anything  to  do  with  her." 

"  You  are  lying  again." 

"  No,  I  am  not.  It  was  not  written  on  her  face  that  she 
belonged  to  you.  And  besides,  I  didn't  know  her;  it  was 
Arthur  who  knew  her." 

"  Yes,  the  cowardly  scoundrel  that  I  thrashed." 

"  Who  has  taken  your  place  with  me  and  preceded, 
you  in  the  heart  of  your  fair  florist.  I  suppose  you  know 
that,  eh  ?  " 

"I  know  that  he  is  a  most  degraded  blackguard;  and 


THE  felon's  bequest.  169 

,<mce  be  lives  •witli  you,  tell  him  from  me  that  when  I 
meet  him  I  will  beat  him  to  a  jelly." 

"  You  are  angry  with  him  because  he  was  your  woman's 
first  lover.  You  ought  to  be  more  of  a  philosopher  than 
that.     Why,  if  he  had  not  been,  some  other  would." 

Burning  with  rage  George  raised  his  hand  to  strike 
her  to  the  ground  for  her  insolence,  but  a  sudden  scru- 
ple restrained  him.  Seeing  this,  Juliet  attacked  him 
again.  "  None  of  that,  my  good  man,"  cried  she,  raising 
her  voice  so  that  the  passers-by  might  hear  her.  "  You 
are  not  General  the  Marquis  of  Simancas,  nor  am  I  a  little 
workgirl  from  Belleville,  so  don't  think  that  I  am  going 
to  stand  and  be  beaten.  If  you  lay  a  finger  on  me  I'll 
call  the  poHce,  and  then  we  shall  see  if  you  have  the 
right  to  thrash  me,  not  counting  that  if  the  police  poke 
their  noses  into  your  affairs  again  you  may  not  find  it 
pleasant.  I  should  like  to  know  where  you  got  your 
money  from,  and  what  you  would  say  to  a  magistrate  if 
he  questioned  you  about  it;  and  you  may  be  sure  you 
wiU  be  questioned,  for  your  friend  Valbrec  goes  about 
everywhere  saying  that  you  have  had  a  bequest  left  you. 
A  bequest  left  to  you,  indeed !  Why,  you  haven't  a  soul 
belonging  to  you  on  this  earth,  for  you  are  only  some- 
body's bastard.  Where  have  you  stolen  your  money 
from  ?  Perhaps  you  picked  up  a  packet  of  bank  notes  in 
a  cab  ?  " 

George  ground  his  teeth  in  anger. 

"That  goes  home,  does  it?"  cried  Juliet.  "All  the 
worse  for  you.  You  should  not  have  stood  out  as  you 
did.  I  only  wanted  to  be  on  your  side,  because  I  am  a 
good  sort  of  a  girl  after  all,  and  we  might  have  helped 
each  other.  For  the  moment  I  am  in  a  hole,  but  I  shall 
get  out  of  it.  If  you  had  chosen  peace  you  would  have 
seen  what  the  help  of  a  woman  like  me  was  worth,  but  you 
prefen-ed  war.  Good,  you  shaU  have  it  i  "  and  -with,  this 
threatening  conclusion  Juliet  emerged  from  the  doorway 
where  she  had  been  standing  at  the  commencement  of 
this  stormy  interview,  and  hurried  away  to  the  boulevard. 
George  made  no  effort  to  follow  her,  but  proceeded  on 
his  way  to  the  Rue  Frochot,  overwhelmed  by  this  flood 
of  calumny  and  insult,  with  his  heart  deeply  wounded, 
and  his  feelings  painfully  lacerated.  He  had  left  his 
house  fidl  of  joy,  in  order  to  bring  back  good  news  from 


170  THE  felon's  bequest. 

Valbrec's  office,  and  he  had  met  with  nothing  but  decep- 
tion, humiliation,  and  increased  anxiety.  He  certainly 
put  no  faith  in  the  perfidious  statements  and  plain-spoken 
accusations  of  Juliet,  but  he  could  not  conceal  from  him- 
self that  the  abandoned  woman  could  do  a  great  deal  of 
harm  'both  to  Cecile  and  himself;  especially  to  him,  for 
she  would  not  hesitate  to  spread  about  all  sorts  of  mali- 
cious reports  regarding  the  origin  of  his  fortune,  which 
might  be  productive  of  serious  embarrassment  to  him. 
He  had  never  for  a  moment  had  a  shadow  of  doubt 
regarding  the  truth  of  the  story  that  Cecile  had  told 
him,  and  the  poor  girl,  who  was  now  dressing  to  accom- 
pany him  to  the  theatre,  could  not  for  a  moment  guess 
that  a  vile  creature  had  stopped  her  lover  in  the  Eue 
Lafitte,  and  accused  her  of  having  basely  deceived  him. 
He  resolved  not  to  say  a  word  to  her  about  his  unfortu- 
nate meeting  with  Juliet;  but  the  harm  was  done,  and 
the  poisoned  dart  which  the  vile  woman  had  cast  at  him 
rankled  in  the  festering  wound. 


CHAPTER  XXm. 

▲  rrasT  kight. 

Dwellers  in  foreign  lands  can  hardly  realize  the  seusation 
that  a  first  representation  in  a  Parisian  theatre  excites. 
In  Italy  and  Germany,  where  music  is  so  highly  thought 
of,  a  new  opera  will  collect  together  an "  appreciative, 
sympathetic  audience.  But  in  Paris,  whether  it  is  a 
masterpiece  or  a  mere  bit  of  foolery,  a  lyric  drama  or 
burlesque,  or  a  simple  farce,  a  first  night  is  always  an 
event:  not  for  the  worthy  citizens,  nor  yet  for  the  work- 
ing classes,  who  do  not  visit  the  theatre  through  vanity, 
but  for  that  section  which  styles  itself  Parisian  society, 
in  which  the  idle  and  vicious  are  in  the  majority.  Some 
come  because  othei-s  are  going,  as  sheep  follow  their  bell- 
wether, and  others  in  the  hopes  of  their  names  appearing 
m  the  papers  next  day.     It  matters  little  to  them  whether 


THE  felon's  bequest.  171 

the  piece  be  interesting  or  the  reverse;  indeed,  they  sel- 
dom listen  to  it.  It  is  quite  sufficient  for  them  to  be  seen, 
and  to  attain  this  object  they  will  lavish  their  gold  to 
procure  places.  Some  of  them  who  have  been  unable  to 
obtain  seats  have  been  known  to  parade  in  front  of  the 
theatre  during  the  waits  between  the  acts,  in  evening 
costume,  so  that  it  may  appear  that  they  have  been  pres- 
ent. They  believe  that  it  would  be  a  slur  on  their  repu- 
tation if  they  were  not  present  at  a  dramatic  solemnity 
of  this  kind,  and  will  perform  incredible  acts  of  meanness 
to  attain  their  object.  It  must  be  understood,  however, 
that  this  only  applies  to  some  theatres,  as  others  are  cer- 
tainly unknown  to  the  fine  gentlemen  of  society.  The 
Ambigu  was  never  "  the  thing,"  and  the  Porte  Saint 
Martin  was  not  so  until  melodramas  by  populai-  authors 
began  to  be  played  there.  This  evening  this  was  not 
the  case,  for  a  grand  spectacular  drama  was  to  be  played 
by  some  unknown  ^vriters,  but  marvels  were  reported  of 
the  scenery  and  the  stage  effects.  The  fashionable  world 
were  to  be  there  in  great  numbers,  and  their  humble  fol- 
lowers and  admirers  would  not  aUow  so  favorable  an 
opportunity  of  mixing  with  them  to  sUp.  There  was 
therefore  a  crowd,  and  a  very  fashionable  crowd,  too,  at  the 
theatre.  Fashionable  evening  dress  in  the  stalls,  and 
private  boxes  fuU  of  diamonds  which  glittered  on  the 
whitest  of  shouldei"s;  nothing,  indeed,  was  wanting. 

George  and  Cecile  did  not  arrive  until  after  the  first 
act  was  over.  They  had  had  a  protracted  dinner,  though 
not  a  very  merry"  one,  at  the  Cafe  Anglais,  albeit  Cecile 
was  enchanted  at  enjoying  a  new  pleasure  ynih.  the  man 
she  loved,  for  she  had  never  been  present  at  a  first  rep- 
resentation. Greorge  had  taken  good  care  not  to  say  a 
word  regarding  the  incidents  which  had  vexed  him  so  much 
in  the  course  of  the  day ;  but  his  mind  continually  wandered 
back  to  them,  and  he  could  not  force  himself  to  ajDpear 
joyous  and  merry  during  the  dinner.  Even  the  cham- 
pagne had  no  effect  on  him,  and  Cecile  was  a  little 
uneasy  at  his  moroseness,  but  she  did  not  let  him  see  it, 
and  trusted  to  the  performance  to  drive  it  away.  Cecile 
wore  no  jewelry.  G-eorge  had  not  yet  thought  of  giv- 
ing her  any,  and,  had  he  offered  to  do  so,  she  would  have 
most  probaljly  refused  it;  but  she  was  dressed  in  perfect 
taste,  and  her  toilet  enhanced  the  charms  of  her  face  and 


172  THE  felon's  bequest. 

figure.  There  was  not  a  womau  in  the  theatre  who  could 
be  compared  to  her.  When,  therefore,  they  drew  aside 
the  screens,  after  taking  their  seat  in  the  stage-box,  there 
was  a  sudden  sensation  amongst  the  occupants  of  the 
stalls.  Twenty  opera  glasses  were  turned  in  her  direc- 
tion, for  an  unknown  beauty  is  a  grand  treat  to  the  fre- 
quenters of  first  nights  at  the  theatre,  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  see  the  same  female  faces  over  and  over  again. 
Not  one  of  them  could  remember  ever  having  met  the 
handsome  brunette  before,  but  some  of  the  men  con- 
nected with  the  Stock  Exchange  recognized  the  gentle- 
man who  escorted  her;  and  Cransac  could  see  some  of 
them  whispering  to  each  other  remarks  which  he  felt 
sure  had  reference  to  him.  His  appearance  puzzled 
those  who  knew  of  the  trouble  he  had  been  in,  and 
scandal  and  gossip  flew  about  freely. 

Cransac  might  have  foreseen  that  all  this  was  certain 
to  happen,  but  he  was  not  the  less  amazed  by  finding  so 
many  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  and  almost  regretted  that  he 
had  come. 

Cecile  guessed  his  thoughts.  "  Shall  we  go  away  ?  " 
asked  she  suddenly. 

"^Tiat,  and  deprive  you  of  your  night's  pleasure, 
because  a  lot  of  fools  are  staring  at  us!  Certainly 
not,"  answered  George,  deeply  moved  at  this  unsohcited 
offer  on  her  part.  Very  few  women  would  have  con- 
sented to  sacrifice  their  evening's  amusement  to  gratify 
an  unspoken  desire,  only  to  be  read  in  their  lover's 
eyes. 

"  It  seems  that  they  are  looking  at  me,"  said  she,  with 
a  smile.  "Well,  they  shall  have  their  trouble  for 
nothing,"  she  continued,  "  for  I  will  turn  my  back  on 
them." 

She  had,  of  course,  the  best  seat  in  the  box — that  is  to 
say,  the  one  most  remote  from  the  stage — and  she  took 
such  advantage  of  her  position,  and  used  her  fan  with 
such  discretion,  that  she  became  almost  invisible  to  the 
audience. 

Cransac  still  remained  the  mark  for  the  opera-glasses 
of  a  few  of  the  more  obstinate  gazers,  but  he  retaliated 
by  directing  upon  them  the  barrels  of  an  exceUent  pair 
of  binoculars  which  he  liad  brouglit  with  him,  which 
ended  at  last  in  putting  a  stop  to  their  rudeness. 


THE  felon's  bequest.  173 

When  he  had  achieved  this  victory  he  began  in  his 
turn  to  inspect  the  audience,  and  found  familiar  faces 
in  all  parts  of  the  house.  In  the  box  facing  him  was 
Lourdler  with  his  wife  and  daughters.  In  the  dress 
cu-cle  was  the  theatrical  critic  of  the  paper  to  which  Tal- 
brec  belonged;  and  in  the  first  row  of  the  stalls  was  7al- 
brec  himself  in  full  evening  costume,  waiving  friendly 
greetings  to  his  brother  journalists  in  the  different  parts 
of  the  house,  and  occasionally  despatching  a  gracious 
smile  in  the  direction  of  some  lady  of  his  acquaintance. 
Cransac  was  delighted  to  see  him,  and  thought  that  this 
would  be  an  excellert  opportunity  to  introduce  him  to 
Cecile,  according  to  his  promise. 

"  There  is  Paul,"  said  he,  pointing  him  out  to  Cecile; 
"  shall  I  go  and  bring  him  here  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  disturb  him  ?  "  murmured  Cecile, 
who  would  have  much  sooner  remained  alone  with  her 
lover. 

"  Because  he  would  be  far  more  comfortable  with  us 
than  with  all  those  swells  in  the  stalls.  If  he  had  seen 
us,  I  think  that  he  would  have  been  round  before,  for  he 
is  most  anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance.  Indeed,  he 
asked  me  to  bring  him  home  as  soon  as  we  were  properly 
settled  down." 

"  As  long  as  he  does  not  find  me  too  ugly,"  said  Cecile, 
softly. 

"Nonsense,  he  loves  pretty  women  too  well  not  to 
know  one  when  he  sees  her." 

"  Or  too  foolish." 

"  He  is  too  clever  himself  not  to  see  at  once  that  you 
have  plenty  of  talent,  so  let  me  introduce  you  to  him  this 
evening." 

"  You  know  that  I  will  do  all  you  wish,"  returned  Cecile 
extending  her  hand  to  him,  wluch  he  kissed  under  cover 
of  the  sheltering  screen. 

"  Then  I  will  go,"  said  he.  "  But  no,  it  is  useless;  his 
stall  is  empty,  and  he  is  coming  here." 

Valbrec  had  at  length  noticed  his  friend  and,  having 
waved  his  hand  to  show  his  delight  at  the  recognition, 
began  to  perform  that  unpleasant  operation  of  gliding 
between  unwilling  paii^  of  knees  and  the  backs  of  the 
stalls.  In  a  few  moments  Cransac,  who  had  opened  the 
door  of  the  box,  introduced  him  to  Cecile  in  these  words: 


174  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  This  is  Paul,  my  dear;  Paul,  my  best  friend,  of  whom 
I  have  so  often  spoken  to  you." 

"  Pray,  be  my  friend  too,"  said  CecUe,  gracefully. 

"  Faith,  I  ask  for  nothing  better,"  returned  Valbrec, 
bluntly.  "  I  nerer  saw  you  before,  my  dear  madam,  but 
I  feel  sure  that  we  are  destined  to  meet  very  often,  and  I 
am  perfectly  certain  that  we  shall  get  on  well  together. 
You  don't  believe  me.  Well,  then,  listen  to  my  creed. 
Not  only  will  I  do  all  I  can  to  concentrate  all  George's 
love  on  you,  but  if  he  ever  thinks  of  leaving  you,  I  will 
quarrel  with  him  at  once." 

"  What  compliments  I  "  answered  CecUe,  merrily.  "  But 
take  care,  sir,  I  always  distrust  those  who  make  use  of 
them." 

"  As  a  rule,  you  are  right,"  repHed  Valbrec;  "  but  I 
always  say  what  I  think.  Ask  George,  if  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, I  ever  hid  my  sentiments  from  him,  and  he 
will  tell  you  that  it  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  ever  con- 
gratulated him  on  the  object  of  his  love." 

Cecile  understood  the  allusion  to  JuHet  Taupier,  and 
the  rough  frankness  of  the  journalist  took  her  fancy  at 
once.  "  I  thank  you  for  your  good  opinion,"  replied  she, 
"  and  I  hope  that  when  you  know  me  better  you  will 
have  no  cause  to  change  it,  and  that  you  will  still  pre- 
serve a  little  esteem  for  me." 

"  Oh !  esteem  is  far  too  cold  a  word.  I  openly  offer 
you  my  friendship,  and  I  beg  you  to  beheve  that  I  do 
not  abuse  the  ties  of  friendship,  especially  with  ladies." 

"  What  are  you  two  arguing  about  ?  "  asked  George, 
whose  good  humor  had  been  entirely  restored  by  the 
arrival  of  his  friend.  "  You  are  to  be  good  friends,  and 
so  there  the  matter  is  settled.  And  now  tell  us  all  tht 
news  of  the  day,  for  you  always  have  them  cut  and  dried 
and  first,  about  this  piece,  '  The  Martyr.'  What  on  eartl 
is  it  all  about  ?  I  have  read  the  biU,  but  it  does  not  teL 
me  much." 

"  I  don't  know  any  more  than  you,  for  I  was  not  at  th< 
dress  rehearsal.  I  think  that  it  is  only  a  tag  upon  whicl 
to  hang  scenic  decoration.  It  commences  vdth.  the  crea- 
tion of  the  world,  and  ends  with  the  taking  of  the  Bastile 
The  first  act  takes  place  in  Edem  and  I  saw  there  an  Eve 
with  a  magnificent  pair  of  legs,  *  ut  as  foolish  as  a  goose 
for  she  could't  say  two  words  without  making  a  mistake 


THE  felon's  bequest.  176 

After  that  there  is  the  amphitheatre  at  Rome,  and  then 
we  glide  at  once  into  the  Middle  Ages,  and  come  to  the 
persecution  of  the  Albigenses,  and  the  act  after  that  is 
the  massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew.  It  ought  to  have 
been  called  the  history  of  rehgious  persecution  from  the 
earliest  times,  but  it  appeal's  that  in  the  end  the  perse- 
cuted have  their  revenge." 

"  The  deuce,"  said  Cransac;  "  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  as 
if  it  would  be  very  lively." 

"I  am  afraid  so,  too;  and  I  am  certain  that,  in  spite 
of  the  manner  in  which  it  has  been  put  on  the  stage,  the 
management  wouldn't  rake  in  a  sou  if  it  were  not  for  a 
'  draw '  that  will  bring  all  Pai'is  here." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  '  draw '  ?  "  asked  Cecile,  with 
a  smile. 

"  In  theatrical  slang,  it  means  a  sensational  scene,  dear 
madam,"  answered  the  journalist;  "and  George  knows 
what  the  di-aw  is  this  evening." 

George  made  a  sign  in  the  negative,  and  Valbrec  was 
rather  surj^rised,  but  presumed  that  he  did  not  wish  him 
to  speak  of  the  Lion  Queen  before  Cecile;  for  the  great 
draw  of  the  Porte  Saint  Martin  this  evening  was  to  be 
Cornelian,  who,  in  very  scanty  attii-e,  was  to  perform 
with  her  lions  in  the  scene  of  the  Roman  amphitheatre, 
und  Valbrec  could  not  believe  that  George  was  ignorant 
of  this  fact,  as  her  aj)proaching  appearance  at  the  theatre 
had  been  spoken  of  at  the  dinner  at  Brebant's.  A  man 
must  have  a  very  bad  memory  to  forget  such  informa- 
tion, but  the  fact  is  that  truth  is  always  stranger  than 
fiction.  George  did  not  recollect  a  word  about  it;  and 
even  the  name  of  Cornelian,  printed  at  the  bottom  of  the 
bill  in  large  letters,  had  not  excited  his  attention. 

"  "Well,"  said  Valbrec,  "  if  you  don't  know  the  most 
exciting  episode  in  the  piece,  I  shan't  tell  you  what  it  is, 
but  let  you  have  the  pleasure  of  a  surprise." 

"  Yes,  I  beg  that  you  will  do  so,"  cried  Cecile,  "  I  am 
not  yet  tired  of  the  emotions  that  a  theatrical  perform- 
ance gives  rise  to,  and  do  not  wish  to  lose  one  of  them. 
If  you  tell  me  all  about  it  beforehand,  I  shall  miss  half 
my  pleasure,  and  I  want  to  enjoy  a  real  shiver,  for  I 
suppose  the  scene  is  a  terrible  one." 

"  Oh,  most  terrible  if^ " 

"  Not   another  word,   please.     I  don't   want  to   know 


176  THE  felon's  bequest. 

anything.  You  will  think  me  very  foolish,  but  it  is  so 
long  since  I  have  been  to  the  theatre;  and  then  I  am  a 
Parisian  by  birth,  and  that  means  that  I  have  adored  the 
theatre  from  my  earliest  youth.  When  I  was  a  little 
thing  my  dream  was  to  have  been  an  actress." 

"  Had  you  carried  out  your  desire,  you  would  have  had 
a  tremendous  success!" 

"  I  don't  think  so.  To  be  a  good  actress  you  must  have 
plenty  of  self-possession,  and  that  is  a  quality  that  I  am 
entirely  lacking  in.  Besides,  the  wish  passed  away  very 
quickly.  When  I  grew  older,  my  dream  was  to  know 
the  actresses,  and  to  see  them  near." 

"  That  is  a  wish  I  can  gratify  this  evening.  I  have  my 
entree  behind.  The  manager  is  my  friend,  and  if  you 
have  still  the  desire  to  go  behind  the  scenes,  I  can  take 
you  there." 

'•  Oh  !  I  should  like  it  immensely." 
"  I  will  pilot  you  through  in  safety.  George  has  no 
more  idea  of  the  world  behind  the  scenes  than  you  have, 
and  if  I  did  not  act  as  a  guide  to  both  of  you,  you  might 
fall  down  some  trap,  or  get  a  piece  of  scenery  on  your 
head;  but  with  me  you  wUl  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  You  will  come,  will  you  not  ?"  asked  Cecile  of  George 
who  had  made  no  reply  to  the  proposal. 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish,  only  I  think  that  you  will 
regret  having  put  yourself  out,"  returned  he.  "  It  is  not 
so  strange  a  place  as  you  imagine — pulleys,  ropes,  rough 
stage  carpenters  and  dirty  supers." 

"  We  won't  stay  long;  but  if  you  do  not  wish  to  go,  I 
will  give  up  the  idea  at  once." 

"Oh,  no.     I  won't  stand  in  your  way;  and  since  Paul 

guarantees  us  against  all  accidents " 

"  There,  then,  that  is  all  settled,"  cried  Cecile,  joyously. 
"Thanks,  my  dear  George.  You  cannot  imagine  the 
pleasure  you  have  given  me.  At  last,  I  shall  meet  the 
actresses  face  to  face." 

At  this  point,  Valbrec  was  on  the  point  of  mentioning 
Cornelian,  but  he  thought  that  George  might  think  it  bad 
taste  on  his  part  to  mention  her  name.  He  therefore 
had  no  scruple  in  taking  his  two  friends  behind  the  scenes, 
where  Cornelian  would  very  likely  not  notice  them,  taken 
up  as  she  was  by  her  part. 

Suddenly  Cecile  began  to  examine  the  curtain  with  a 


THE  felon's  bequest.  177 

great  deal  of  attention,  and  certainly  she  was  not  engaged 
in  reading  the  various  advertisements  with  which  it  was 
covered.  At  one  of  the  small  round  apertures  pierced  in 
the  curtain  for  the  convenience  of  those  on  the  stage  who 
wished  to  look  for  any  one  in  the  body  of  the  house,  was 
an  eye,  a  dark  flashing  eye,  which  was  obstinately  fixed 
upon  the  stage  box.  Who  was  it  watching?  Was  it 
the  eye  of  some  young  lady  friend  of  the  journalist,  who 
was  well  known  to  many  of  the  members  of  the  chorus  ? 
At  any  rate,  Valbrec  paid  no  attention  to  it,  being  just 
then  engaged  in  watching  one  of  the  ladies  of  the  demi- 
monde, who  had  just  entered  the  upper  boxes  with  a 
great  deal  of  noise.  But  the  eye  never  moved  from  the 
object  upon  which  it  was  fixed,  and  Cecile  began  to 
fancy  that  that  object  was  George.  She  asked  herself 
why  that  flashing  eye  was  so  steadily  watching  her  lover. 
Had  he  made  a  conquest  of  one  of  the  actresses  ?  for  he 
was  good  looking  enough  to  have  done  so.  Whatever 
might  be  the  case,  he  did  not  reply  to  it,  nor  indeed  seem 
to  notice  it.  A  feeling  of  uneasiness  came  over  her,  and 
at  last  she  was  compelled  to  draw  Valbrec's  attention  to 
the  pertinacious  gaze. 

"  Has  that  eye  been  gazing  for  so  long  a  time  at  you, 
M.  Valbrec  ?  "  said  she. 

"  What  eye  ?  "  asked  he,  turning  his  head  towards  the 
curtain.  "Ah,  I  see  the  black  diamond  shining  through 
a  hole  in  the  curtain.  Why,  it  must  belong  to  one  of  the 
vestals,  for  in  the  coming  act  you  will  see  the  vestal  vir- 
gins seated  on  the  benches  of  the  Roman  amphitheatre, 
and  I  have  been  told  that  they  have  been  selected  for 
their  good  looks  but  I  don't  know  any  of  those  young 
ladies,  so  I  expect  that  this  one  is  trying  to  mash  one  of 
the  orchestra." 

"  No,  no;  she  is  looking  at  our  box." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  because  she  sqxrints." 

This  reply  made  Cecile  laugh  though  she  was  only  half 
reassured.     At  that  moment  the  eye  disappeared. 

"  There,"  said  Valbrec,  "  the  vestal  has  fled.  The 
musician  did  not  return  her  loving  gaze,  and  she  is  weary 
of  making  eyes  at  him." 

Cecile  felt  more  satisfied  now,  and  reproached  herself 
with  having  suspected  George,  who  was  standing  up  and 
gazing  round  to  show  those  who  had  stared  at  him  that 


178  THE  felon's  bequest. 

lie  did  not  fear  them  at  all.  Valbrec  began  to  criticise 
the  audience,  telling  Cecile  theii*  names,  and  keeping  up 
a  running  commentar}^  upon  each  of  them.  "Ah,"  said 
he,  "  there  is  the  little  Countess  of  Benserade,  about 
whom  and  the  Italian  tenor  there  was  so  much  talk.  The 
box  next  to  her  is  occuj^ied  by  the  old  Countess  of  Ba- 
rancos,  who  is  in  love  with  her  coachman.  AMiy,  there 
is  Fanny  Carrelet  with  a  Brazilian  all  over  diamonds. 
It  would  seem  that  she  has  left  the  baron,  then." 

"  Why,  you  know  everybody,"  said  Cecile,  in  profound 
surprise. 

"  That  is  my  business,"  said  the  journalist,  calmly; 
"  but  the  more  I  see  of  them  the  more  I  dislike  them.  All 
these  beautiful  ladies  and  handsome  men  disgust  me. 
Ah,  if  I  might  only  say  what  I  Hke  about  them  in  my 
paper !  But  I  must  give  in  to  my  subscribers,  and  if  I  may 
chaff  them  a  little,  it  is  all  that  I  am  permitted  to  do." 

"  AY  ell,  you  exercise  that  privilege  pretty  freely," 
remarked  George. 

"I  do;  but  I  often  get  hauled  over  the  coals  for  it. 
Why,  you  yourself  persuaded  me  to  hold  my  tongue 
about  that  vile  foreigner's  conduct.  I  did  as  you  asked 
me,  and  I  was  wrong.  I  ought  to  have  denounced,  or 
let  Saintonge  denounce,  this  satyr  from  across  the  sea, 
who  attempts  to  corrupt  our  wives  and  daughters." 
Cecile  shuddered;  she  had  a  presentiment  that  this  was  a 
reference  to  her  adventure  in  the  Eue  Pergolese.  "  We 
might  have  been  fined  smartly,  but  I  should  have  done 
my  duty,  whereas  now  the  villain,  encouraged  by  the 
impunity  with  which  he  can  act,  will  recommence  his 
infamies  again." 

"Of  whom  are  you  speaking?"  asked  Cecile,  much 
excited. 

"  Why,  of  that  elderly  dandy,  stuck  up  there  in  front  of 
us  in  one  of  the  boxes  on  the  grand  tier.  He  has  just 
made  his  entrance,  and  is  looking  round  for  a  fresh  flower 
that  is  for  sale.  He  looks  like  an  ogre  on  the  scent  of 
human  flesh." 

George  and  Cecile  raised  their  eyes  at  the  same  instant, 
and  recognized  Simancas.  He  had  not  yet  caught  sight 
of  them,  but  he  M^ould  not  be  long  before  he  did  so,  for 
he  was  sweeping  the  wliole  house  with  his  glass. 

George  was  pale  with  rage,  and  for  a  moment  forgot 


THE  felon's  bequest.  179 

the  wise  resolution  that  he  had  made  to  have  nothing  fur- 
ther to  do  ^vith  the  villian.  It  appeared  as  if  Simancas 
had  come  there  on  purpose  to  insult  them,  as  if  the  odious 
voluptuary  covdd  have  known  that  Cecile,  "who  had  so 
miraculoiTsly  escaped  from  his  clutches,  would  have  been 
present  with  Cransac  at  the  first  representation  of  "  The 
Martyr."  Without  saying  a  word,  George  was  about  to 
leave  the  box  with  the  intention  of  striking  the  marquis 
before  the  whole  audience;  a  mad  project,  which  he  had 
tjiken  care  not  to  impart  to  Valbrec.  Cecile,  still  paler 
than  her  lover,  only  wished  to  quit  the  place  so  that  she 
might  no  longer  see  the  man  who  had  so  grossly  insulted 
her,  but  flhe  did  not  know  what  motive  to  assign  for  so 
sudden  a  departure. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  two  ?  "  asked  Val- 
brec. "You  don't  seem  able  to  sit  quiet.  Are  you  afraid 
of  that  wretched  old  foreigner  ?  " 

"  No*. afraid,"  muttered  George  between  his  teeth,  "but 

I  hftve  in  account  to  settle  with  him,  and  I  am  going " 

"Too  must  settle  your  account  elsewhere,"  said  Valbrec. 
"You  are  really  too  revengeful.  What,  because  he  did 
not  receive  you  politely  when  you  went  to  see  him  three 
weeks  ago,  you  want  to  set  on  him  here  at  the  theatre. 
That  would  be  absurd,  and  I  beg  that  you  will  remain 
quiet,  and  you  too,  dear  madame.  Have  you  also  grounds 
of  complaint  against  Simancas,  for  you  seem  to  tremble 
from  head  to  foot  ?  " 

"  I  don't  feel  very  well,"  stammered  Cecile.  "  It  is  so 
hot  in  this  box." 

"  Yes,  of  course  that  is  it.  Shall  we  go  and  take  a  turn 
on  the  promenade?  You  have  plenty  of  time  for  a  breath 
of  fresh  air  before  the  curtain  rises." 

"  Thank  you,  but " 

"  Ah,  of  course,  why  you  want  to  go  behind." 
"  I  thought  that  you  would  have  taken  me  there  after 
this  act  was  over." 

"  Let  us  go  now.  You  will  not  find  it  much  cooler,  but 
you  will  come  into  the  midst  of  a  regular  hurly-burly, 
which  will  distract  your  attention,  and  you  can  afterwards 
come  back  here  and  see  the  end  of  the  piece." 

George  felt  that  the  change  proposed  by  his  friend 
would  give  him  the  necessary  time  to  calm  down  and  pre- 


180  THE  felon's  bequest. 

vent  his  committing  an  act  of  folly.  "  Very  well,"  said 
lie,  "  then  take  us  with  you." 

Cecile  made  no  objection,  for  she  wished  to  be  certain 
that  George  had  no  acquaintance  amongst  the  actresses, 
and  she  resolved  to  leave  the  theatre  with  him  as  soon  as 
the  second  act  was  over.  She  guessed  the  feelings  of  the 
poor  fellow,  and  she  desired  to  prevent  all  chance  of  a 
meeting  between  Simancas  and  her  lover. 

"  Come,  then,  my  children,"  cried  Valbrec,  who  had  no 
idea  of  the  true  state  of  their  feelings.  "  All  that  we  have 
to  do  is  to  make  haste." 

Cecile  woiild  have  liked  to  have  got  her  mantle,  but  the 
box  opener  who  had  charge  of  it  was  not  at  her  post,  and 
Valbrec  assured  her  that  it  was  very  warm  behind  the 
scenes.  He  practiced  what  he  preached,  for  he  had  left 
his  own  coat  in  his  stall,  and  George  followed  his  example 
by  depositing  his  in  the  cloak-room.  One  of  the  officials 
of  the  theatre  was  seated  on  a  chair  in  front  of  the  door 
of  communication,  and  performed  his  duties  as  Cerberus 
with  incorruptible  fidelity.  No  one,  although  many  heavy 
bribes  were  offered  to  him,  had  ever  managed,  unless 
properly  authorized,  to  pass  through  that  door.  Paul 
Valbrec,  one  of  the  staff  of  a  well-known  paper,  had  his 
right  of  entrance,  but  the  man  looked  rather  queerly  at 
Cransac  as  Paul,  slipping  a  five-franc  piece  into  the  man's 
hand,  whispered,  "  A  member  of  our  staff." 

"  And  the  lady  ?  "  asked  the  official,  timidly. 

"She  belongs  to  it  too,"  answered  the  journalist,  with 
the  most  admirable  coolness. 

"Very  good,"  returned  the  man,  inserting  a  key  in 
the  lock.     "  Go  in,  sir." 

Valbrec  ascended  the  steps  of  a  short  ladder,  he  then 
turned  and  aided  Cecile  in  her  assent,  George  followed; 
the  door  was  shut,  and  they  found  themselves  in  almost 
total  darkness.  "  This  is  funny,"  said  Valbrec;  "  I  have 
been  here  twenty  times,  and  I  don't  know  where  I  am  a 
bit." 

They  could  see  nothing,  but  heard  all  sorts  of  strange 
noises:  the  shouts  of  the  workmen  setting  the  scenes,  the 
tramp  of  the  supers  collecting  in  the  passages,  the  clash 
of  metallic  substances;  and  above  all  these  sounds  was  a 
loud,  sustained  growling,  varied  by  an  occasional  roar 
like  a  peal  of  thunder.     Cecile  was  rather  alarmed,  and 


THE  felon's  bequest.  181 

Eressed  close  to  George,  -who  reassured  her  as  much  as 
e  was  able,  although  he  too  was  quite  out  of  his  element 
in  this  iU-Ughted  locahty.  At  this  instant  three  loud  raps 
were  heard.  This  was  the  signal  given  by  the  stage  man- 
ager for  the  raising  of  the  curtain.  "  Hang  me,  if  I  know 
where  I  am,"  muttered  Valbrec.  "  On  the  stage  perhaps, 
and  we  shall  be  in  a  nice  predicament  if  the  curtain  draws 
up  before  we  have  got  awaj.  Just  fancy  what  the  pubHc 
would  think,  for  with  aU  the  good-will  in  the  world  they 
could  not  take  us  for  Early  Christians  about  to  be  cast 
to  the  beasts,  and  I  fear  we  should  be  hissed.  Let  us 
endeavor  to  escape,  my  children." 

"I am  quite  agreeable,"  returned  George,  "but  which 
direction  shall  we  take?  Must  we  go  on,  or  retreat?" 
"  Let  us  go  in  the  direction  of  the  light." 


CHAPTEK  XXIV. 

A    HCES-E    FROM    ANTIQUE   BOME. 

Cransac  and  Cecile,  in  order  to  follow  the  advice  of 
their  guide,  directed  their  course  towards  an  oil -lamp 
fastened  ovet  a  door;  and,  as  they  did  so,  they  saw  Val- 
brec, who  was  in  front  of  them,  fell  across  an  elderly 
man  who  came  out  of  a  low  door,  bending  his  head  to 
enable  him  to  do  so. 

"  Look  out  there,  you  stupid  animal !  "  cried  the  jour- 
nalist. 

"  Look  out  yourself,"  returned  the  other;  "  but  first 
tell  me  how  you  came  in  here." 

"  Because  I  have  the  right  to  do  so.  I  am  Paul  Valbrec, 
editor  of  the " 

"  What !  is  that  you,  M.  Valbrec  ?  Pardon  me,  but  I 
did  not  recognize  you  in  the  dark.  You  know  me,  I  am 
the  stage  manager." 

"  What,  you.  Father  Ralingue  !  WTiy,  we  came  across 
you  at  just  the  right  moment.  You  can  get  us  a  good 
place;  I  have  two  friends  with  me." 

"  So  I  see.  If  the  manager  knew  of  it  he  would  make 
a  nice  fuss;  he  gave  the  strictest  orders  this  morning  to 
let  no  one  behind  but  the  press." 

"  Quite  so;  but  you,  my  good  fellow,  would  not  be  so 


182  THE  felon's  bequest. 

cruel  as  to  turn  out  the  charming  lady  who  is  with  my 
friend." 

"  It  is  my  duty,  and  I  certainly  ought  to  do  ho;  but  if 
you  will  promise  to  remain  perfectly  quiet  in  some 
comer " 

"  "VVe  swear  it;  but  tell  me,  what  on  earth  have  you 
done  to  the  jDlace.     I  can't  find  my  way  about  at  alL" 

"  It  is  the  new  star  that  is  the  cause  of  it  all." 

"  Well,  your  new  star  takes  up  a  deuce  of  a  lot  of 
room." 

"  My  dear  sir,  just  think:  a  Koman  amphitheatre  just 
like  the  real  one,  with  solid  benches,  not  painted  canvas. 
Why,  over  a  hundred  supers  will  be  seated  on  them,  with 
senators  in  their  togas,  vestal  virgins,  and — and — I  don't 
know  what  others;  but  you,  who  are  up  in  Koman  his- 
tory, know  all  about  them.  Everybody  wlU  be  delighted, 
and  we  small  make  heaps  of  money." 

"  I  believe  you,  my  friend;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  we 
had  much  better  have  remained  in  front,  for  it  appears 
that  we  shall  see  nothing  here." 

"  You  won't  see  everything;  but,  if  you  are  not  too 
hard  to  please,  I  can  put  you  in  a  corner  where  you  will 
be  quite  at  home  and  will  not  lose  a  bit  of  the  acting." 

"I  don't  suppose  there  will  be  much  acting,"  said 
Valbrec,  who  knew  well  enough  that  Cornelian  would  not 
be  devoured  by  the  lions  on  the  stage. 

"Well,  the  act  is  a  short  one;  but  it  will  make  jour 
hair  stand  on  end,  I  can  tell  you." 

Cransac  paid  but  little  attention  to  what  was  going  on, 
for  he  was  thinking  of  Simancas,  whom  he  had  left  seated 
in  front. 

Cecile  beheved  that  a  gladiatorial  contest  was  to  be 
exhibited  in  the  arena,  or  else  that  the  semblance  of  the 
martyrdom  of  one  of  the  early  Christians  was  to  be  por- 
trayed, and  joyfully  began  to  anticipate  a  scene  which 
would  fill  her  with  pleasurable  emotion. 

"  Come,  Ralingue,"  continued  Valbrec,  who  knew  what 
they  were  going  to  see,  "where  must  we  place  ourselves?" 

"  There,  in  that  space  under  the  benches.  You  must 
stoop  to  get  in;  and  there  is  only  one  chair,  which  I  had 
brought  for  myself;  madame  can  use  it." 

"  That  is  all  we  want.  Neither  I  or  my  friend  car© 
about  seeing  much,  certainly  I  don't." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  183 

"  Then  you  had  better  stay  where  you  are;  and  now, 
if  the  lady  will  jDermit  me,  I  will  take  her  to  her  seat  ?" 

For  a  moment  Cecile  hesitated,  as  she  gazed  upon  the 
dark  hole  into  which  she  was  invited  to  enter,  and  looked 
at  George,  as  though  to  ask  his  permission,  but  he  made 
no  objection;  indeed,  he  was  anxious  for  a  little  privacy 
to  taUi  with  Valbrec  about  Simancas.  "  Go,  dearest," 
said  he,  eagerly.  "Paul  and  I  will  not  move  from  here; 
and  when  you  have  had  enough  of  it,  jou  can  come 
back  to  us." 

Cecile  did  not  wait  for  him  to  repeat  his  permission, 
but  at  once  followed  the  obliging  stage  manager,  who, 
giving  her  his  hand  and  cautioning  her  to  stoop  low,  lest 
she  should  strike  her  head,  conducted  her  to  her  place, 
and  left  her  with  these  words:  "There  is  not  the  shghtest 
danger,  but  do  not  come  too  forward.  You  must  not  be 
seen  from  the  front  of  the  house,  and  a  couple  of  feet  in 
ad\ance  would  bring  you  into  view." 

Show  herself  indeed  ?  Cecile  vowed  that  she  would 
take  the  greatest  care  not  to  do  so  whilst  Simancas  was 
there;  and  yet  she  thought  that  she  was  now  quite  safe 
from  him,  and,  with  a  thrill  of  anxious  expectation,  she 
asked  herself  what  she  was  going  to  see. 

From  her  solitary  position  in  the  chair,  Cecile  could 
see  nothing  in  front  of  her,  though  she  looked  with  all 
her  eyes.  A  fine  curtain,  made  of  some  sort  of  gauze, 
sepai-ated  her  from  the  scene,  and  intercepted  the  gleams 
that  fell  from  the  sunlight  in  the  centre  of  the  house. 
But  if  she  could  not  see,  sne  could  hear  close  to  her  the 
sound  of  deep  drawn  breathing,  which  partially  drowned 
the  noisy  overture  the  orchestra  was  performing.  "With 
a  kind  of  apprehension  she  asked  herself  whence  these 
heavy,  harsh  sounds  could  come  from,  and  as  she  did  so 
the  curtain  rose  slowly  to  the  flies,  and  a  flood  of  Hght 
inundated  the  whole  scene.  Then  it  was  that  Cecile  saw 
the  famous  scene  that  the  stage  manager  had  boasted  of. 
It  was  a  magnificent  representation  of  the  Colosseum  at 
Rome,  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  last  of  the  Csesars. 
An  enormous  amphitheatre,  with  its  rows  of  benches 
dwinding  away  in  the  distance,  and  the  seat  of  the  Impe- 
rial Master  in  the  centre.  The  scene  had  been  copied 
from  one  of  Gerome's  most  celebrated  pictures,  and  to 
produce  it  in  all  is  entirety  and  correctness  the  manage- 


184.  THE  felon's  bequest. 

ment  had  spared  neitlier  care  nor  expense.  The  supers 
who  occupied  the  benches  fairly  represented  the  Roman 
populace;  the  senators  were  well  chosen,  and  an  old 
ticket  seller  had  been  found  to  take  the  place  of  the  Em- 
peror, and  from  his  corpiilency  and  Roman  nose  could 
easily  have  sat  for  a  portrait  of  Vitellius.  The  vestal 
virgins  were  simply  superb;  perhaps  the  distinguishing 
characteristic  was  wanting,  but  it  is  impossible  to  provide 
everything.  Dazzled  by  this  magnificent  scene,  Cecile 
could  not  take  in  everything  at  a  first  glance,  but  as  she 
looked  a  second  time  she  saw  that  the  arena  swarmed 
with  lions;  some  were  lying  down,  others  pacing  up  and 
down,  with  heavy  thread,  on  the  planks,  which  creaked 
and  groaned  beneath  their  feet.  One  was  lying  down 
quite  close  to  the  curtain  that  separated  Cecile  from  the 
stage.  This  was  the  one  whose  heavy  breathing  she  had 
heard.  She  was  not,  however,  alarmed  for  an  instant, 
for  she  was  sure  that  the  authorities  would  not  permit  an 
exhibition  in  which  there  would  be  danger  of  Hfe  or  limb 
either  to  the  audience  or  the  performers,  and  on  looking 
more  closely  she  saw  that  all  these  lions,  who  seemed 
entirely  at  liberty,  were  shut  up  in  a  huge  cage,  the  bars 
of  which,  being  painted  a  pale  grey,  were  almost  invisible 
from  the  front  of  the  house,  and  made  the  illusion  most 
complete. 

A  thundering  peal  of  applause  from  all  parts  of  the 
house  testified  to  the  success  of  the  arrangement,  and,  as 
if  to  render  the  scene  more  real,  some  of  the  lions, 
excited  by  the  noise,  began  to  roar.  Cecile  had  read 
sufficiently  to  know  that  in  the  time  of  the  Roman  Empire 
the  Christians  were  thrown  to  the  beasts,  and  she  wondered 
how  she  had  not  guessed  what  was  coming  from  the  title, 
"  The  Martyr,"  which  she  had  read  on  the  playbill,  and 
she  was  now  most  anxious  to  see  how  the  programme 
would  be  carried  out;  for  she  could  hardly  think  it  possi- 
ble that  any  of  the  perfoi-mers  would  volunteer  to  be 
devoured  on  the  stage.  She  would  have  gladly  ques- 
tioned George,  but  she  did  not  dare  to  move,  for  fear  she 
might  miss  some  interesting  episode. 

At  this  moment  George  was  explaining  to  Valbrec  the 
fresh  offence  which  Simancas  had  committed,  and  the 
latter  was  listening  to  Inm  with  a  grave  expression  of 
face,  like  a  man  who  will  not  commit  himself  to  an  opinion 


THE  felon's  bequest.  185 

until  he  has  heard  every  detail.  George  could  not  help 
seeing  that  Valbrec  had  some  doubts  as  to  the  entire 
veracity  of  Cecile's  story,  and  George  was  endeavoring 
to  convince  both  himself  and  his  friend  that  she  had 
escaped  unharmed  from  the  Bluebeard's  Castle  of  the 
Spanish  marquis.  Cecile  was  beyond  the  reach  of  their 
voices,  and  was  entirely  wrapped  up  in  the  scene  that  was 
being  developed  before  her  eyes.  AU  of  a  sudden  she 
saw  a  real  iron  gate  open  beneath  Caesar's  chair,  and  a 
group  of  martyrs  of  both  sexes  thrust  through  it  by  bare- 
armed  executioners.  The  martyrs  were  loaded  with 
pasteboard  chains,  and  the  executioners  brandished  whips 
above  their  heads,  while  the  victims  endeavoring  to  evade 
the  blows,  raising  their  hands  to  heaven  in  supplication. 
The  lions,  smelling  human  flesh,  drew  slowly  nearer  to 
them,  and,  as  the  bars  of  the  cage  were  invisible,  the 
illusion  was  perfect.  Simancas  was  the  only  one  upon 
whose  face  there  was  an  evil  smile,  perhaps  because  he 
hoped  that  some  of  the  precautions  might  fall,  and  that  a 
blow  from  one  of  those  heavy  paws  which  were  thrust 
through  the  bars  might  cause  blood  to  flow.  Cecile,  who 
was  on  the  stage,  could  see  the  deception,  but  to  the 
audience  in  front  the  illusion  was  perfect.  Evidently  this 
was  only  the  preliminary  portion  of  the  scene,  and  was 
to  be  followed  by  one  still  more  thrilling,  as  has  always 
been  the  custom  in  all  theatrical  perfoimance  from  the 
very  beginning.  The  Martyrs  did  not  advance,  but  soon 
another  executioner  appeared  dragging  along  a  woman. 
She  was  clothed  in  tight  fleshings,  and  seemed  entirely 
nude ;  her  unbound  hair  floated  wildly  over  her  shoulders, 
her  beautiful  head  was  haughtily  erect,  and  her  extended 
arms  seemed  to  protest  against  the  horror  of  the  punish- 
ment that  awaited  her.  The  executioner  was  a  hideous 
object,  the  features  of  a  bulldog  surmounted  by  a  mass 
of  shaggy  hair;  a  bull  neck  and  brawny  limbs.  Enthusi- 
astic applause  rang  through  the  house,  and  if  Cecile  did  not 
join  in  them  it  was  because  she  remembered  the  injunc- 
tions of  the  stage  manager  to  keep  herself  perfectly 
quiet.  She  thought  the  tall,  handsome  woman  simply 
superb,  but  she  could  not  refrain  from  trembling  when 
she  heard  the  lions,  excited  no  doubt  by  the  prospect  of 
so  luscious  a  repast,  begin  to  roar,  and  saw  them  lash 
their  flanks  with  their  tails.      The  man  who  dragged  the 


186  THE  felon's  bequest. 

woman  along  touched  a  hidden  spring;  the  bars  sUd  back 
without  a  sound  and  closed  again  upon  the  pretended 
martyr,  who  remained  in  the  inside  of  the  cage  in  the 
midst  of  the  ferocious  beasts.  All  was  effected  with  such 
ingeniiity  that  it  seemed  as  if  every  one  on  the  stage  ran 
the  same  risk  as  the  woman  inside  the  bars.  Cecile  never 
took  her  eyes  off  her  for  a  moment,  although  now  she 
understood  what  was  about  to  take  place,  but  she  waited 
with  impatience  for  the  conclusion  of  this  perilous  per- 
formance. To  carry  out  her  part  as  a  martyr  the  Lion 
Queen  was  unable  to  go  through  her  usual  performance, 
which  was  to  flog  the  lions,  and  to  make  them  dance  about 
like  poodles.  It  was  necessary  for  her  to  run  hither  and 
thither,  as  though  in  terror  of  being  devoured;  and  yet 
how  was  she  to  effect  this,  with  wild  beasts  who  had  been 
trained  to  obey  hei",  and  to  crouch  at  her  feet  ?  The  Fair 
of  Montmartre  looked  forward  to  something  fresb,  and 
they  were  not  disappointed. 

CorneUan,  after  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven,  as  though 
to  show  that  she  died  for  her  faith,  crossed  her  arms 
and  advanced  boldly  into  the  middle  of  the  cage.  The 
lions,  as  if  the  order  had  been  given  to  them,  formed  a 
circle  round  her,  roaiing  loudly.  They  had  been  trained 
to  this  for  the  last  fifteen  days  under  Cornelian's  skillful 
tuition;  but  the  audience  who  were  not  in  the  secret, 
looked  on  the  performance  in  another  light.  From  all 
sides  ran  the  cry;  "Enough,  enough!"  It  was  really  a 
terrifying  spectacle,  but  it  was  not  all  over  yet.  Cor- 
nelian fell  on  her  knees,  with  her  hands  clasjDed  together, 
and  at  this  signal  the  lions  rose  upon  their  hind  legs  and 
roared  hideously.  This  roar  found  an  echo  all  over  the 
theatre;  many  of  the  ladies  were  ready  to  faint,  others 
hid  their  faces  in  their  hands  and  a  stifled  sob  burst 
from  almost  every  bosom.  But  the  excitement  grew 
more  intense  when  Groliath  commenced  to  irritate  the 
animals  with  his  pike.  Then  the  savage  beasts  began  to 
bound  backwards  and  forwards,  showing  their  formidable 
teeth  and  claws,  sometimes  leaping  over  the  kneeling 
woman,  rushing  madly  at  the  man  who  was  harassing 
them,  and  then  coming  back  to  the  motionless  figure  in 
the  centre  of  the  cage  and  throwing  it  to  the  ground  by 
pressing  their  ponderous  paws  on  its  shoulders,  and 
finally  hiding  it  completely  beneath  their  bodies,  as  a 


THE  felon's  bequest.  187 

pack  of  hounds  will  cover  the  body  of  a  stag  that  they 
have  pulled  down.  Then  fear  seized  on  all  the  spectators, 
and  a  general  rush  took  place.  Men  and  women  crushed 
and  crowded  in  their  efforts  to  escape.  The  performers 
on  the  stage,  especially  the  vestal  virgins,  looked  most 
uncomfortable,  and  the  fat  man  who  represented  Caesar 
prepared  to  decamp  without  the  least  regard  for  his 
imperial  dignity.  Everyone  believed  that  this  mad  rush 
of  the  angry  lions  on  a  defenseless  woman  had  not  been 
contemplated,  and  that  the  performance  had  terminated 
in  a  hideous  tragedy.  More  dead  than  alive,  Cecile 
wished  to  fly,  but  was  imable  to  stir  hand  or  foot.  The 
lions  did  not  seem  inclined  to  relinquish  their  prey. 
Nothing  could  be  seen  but  a  hideous  mingling  of  waving 
manes,  heavy  paws,  savage  growls,  collected  over  a  white 
figvire,  of  which  a  glance  coiild  only  be  caught  at  inter- 
vals. This  was  a  draw,  and  a  most  wonderful  one,  for 
never  since  the  fall  of  the  Koman  Empii-e  had  such  a  per- 
formance been  witnessed  in  a  modern  theatre.  It  was 
time  to  let  the  curtain  fall  to  prevent  an  accident  in 
front  of  the  house;  a  minute  later  and  there  would  have 
been  one  of  those  terrible  crushes  which  follow  a 
mad  effort  to  escape  from  a  building. 

"  Curtain  !  "  cried  the  voice  of  the  manager,  and  the 
curtain  came  down  a  little  quicker  than  usual. 

But  the  stage  was  not  dark  now,  for  the  gas  was 
lighted,  and  from  her  hiding-place  Cecile  could  see  the 
lion  Queen  calmly  disengage  herself  from  the  lions  and 
rise  to  her  feet,  whilst  the  beasts  dispersed  themselves 
with  low  gvowls,  incited  to  do  so  by  the  ever-ready  pike 
of  Goliath.  Martyrs  and  executioners,  senators  and  ves- 
tals, all  hurried  out  pell-mell  by  the  passage  under 
Caesar's  chair,  for  it  was  now  necessary  to  leave  the  stage 
free  for  the  men  whose  duty  it  was  to  roll  forward  the 
cage  into  which  the  lions  were  to  be  placed.  The  duty 
of  shifting  the  terrible  animals  from  one  to  the  other 
was  performed  by  Cornelian  and  Goliath,  who  seemed  to 
think  nothing  of  it,  and  in  a  very  brief  space  of  time  the 
savag<4  beasts  had  been  shifted  into  the  cage  which  was 
their  uoual  residence,  and  which  the  public  had  not  yet 
seen. 


188  THE  felon's  bequest. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

A     SCENE    IN     MODERN    PARIS. 

Nothing  now  remained  but  to  shift  the  scene,  and  the 
stage  carpenters  and  the  workmen  hastened  to  their 
duties  at  once.  Cecile  had  only  just  time  to  msh  into 
the  passage,  where  she  found  George  and  Valbrec,  argu- 
ing with  much  vehemence  on  a  subject  that  was  evi- 
dently far  more  interesting  to  them  than  the  scene  which 
had  caused  her  so  much  emotion.  The  two  friends  were 
still  discussing  how  Cransac  shovild  treat  Simancas. 
George  persisting  in  asserting  that  now  was  a  most 
excellent  opportunity  to  assault  this  insolent  foreigner, 
and  Valbrec  vainly  endeavoring  to  calm  him.  Neither 
of  them  had  taken  any  notice  of  the  performance, 
and  when  CecHe  clasped  George  by  the  arm,  and 
exclaimed:  "  Oh !  how  frightened  I  was,  I  thought 
they  would  have  eaten  her,"  he  could  not  understand 
what  she  meant. 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  rush  of  supers,  which 
carried  them  away  with  it,  and  it  was  only  after  a  severe 
struggle  that  they  had  a  chance  of  speaking. 

"  Was  it  so  touching  as  all  that  ? "  asked  Valbrec. 
"  Did  you  really  think  for  a  moment  that  the  girl  was  in 
any  real  danger  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  the  only  one  that  thought  so,"  answered 
Cecile,  who  was  still  trembling.  "  Did  you  not  hear  the 
noise  in  the  front?  Why  they  were  crushing  each  other 
to  death  in  order  to  get  out." 

"  What  has  been  the  matter  ? "  asked  George,  still 
absorbed  in  the  idea  that  Simancas  was  within  his  reach. 

The  stage  manager,  who  came  up  puffing  and  blowing, 
with  a  face  as  red  as  a  boiled  lobster,  answered  for  her: 

"  Ah,  the  jade  !  "  muttered  he. 

"  My  dear  Ralingue,"  said  Valbrec,  "  you  ought  to  be 
highly  pleased  with  your  new  performer.  The  piece 
will  run  a  hundred  nights  at  the  least.  Whom  are  you 
abusing  ?  " 


THE  felon's  bequest.  189 

"  That  infernal  beast-taming  woman.  Ah  !  if  the  hons 
had  eaten  her  I  should  not  have  been  sorry.  Thanks  to 
her,  our  season  has  been  ruined." 

"  How  is  that  ?  Why,  the  lady  here  has  just  told  me 
that  the  success  was  prodigious." 

'•  Prodigious  !  Why,  they  have  smashed  the  seats,  and 
the  hospital  of  the  theatre  is  full  of  injured  persons  and 
fainting  women." 

"  Well,  and  do  you  complain  because  the  audience  have 
found  it  too  realistic  ?  All  Paris  will  gladly  pay  you  to 
feel  a  touch  of  nature  like  this." 

''  Don't  you  understand  that  the  pohce  will  stop  all 
future  performances,  and  that  to-morrow,  at  the  latest, 
the  manager  will  receive  a  notice  to  that  effect.  All  our 
expenses  wasted — fifty  thousand  francs  at  the  lowest.  I 
tell  you  that  it  is  simply  ruin.  We  have  nothing  ready 
to  go  on  with.  We  shall  have  to  close  for  a  month,  or 
play  some  stock  piece  that  won't  bring  in  a  sou;  a  nice 
look-out  indeed  for  the  winter." 

"  But  you  surely  knew  what  your  performance  was  going 
to  be  like.  It  is  your  own  fault  if  you  let  her  frighten 
your  audience  away." 

"  Not  a  bit,  the  hussy  !  She  would  not  rehearse  before 
anyone;  the  only  one  she  admitted  was  that  keeper,  a 
kind  of  animal  that  played  the  executioner." 

"  I  know  him,  I  have  seen  him  at  the  fair — an  awful 
looking  brute." 

"  I  never  thought  that  an  audience  would  be  such  a  set 
of  asses  as  to  take  a  scene  that  had  all  been  arranged 
before  as  a  serious  mattei*." 

"  Ha,  ha !  my  good  sir,  when  your  principal  actors 
have  teeth  and  claws  you  don't  know  what  may  happen." 

"  I  assure  you,  sir,"  said  Cecile,  "  that  I,  too,  thought 
that  there  had  been  an  accident,  and  I  cannot  help  ask- 
ing myself  even  now  if  the  poor  girl  escaped  without  a 
scratch." 

"  She  !  "  exclaimed  the  stage  manager  disdainfully; 
"  she  isn't  likely  to  get  hurt  in  an  affair  of  this  kind.  A 
respectable  woman  would  have  been*  stifled  or  torn  to 
pieces,  but  the  minx  is  just  now  sitting  smoking  a  cigar- 
ette, and  laughing  in  the  face  of  the  manager,  who  is 
abusing  her  for  her  conduct.     I  will  lay  what  you  like 


190  THE  felon's  bequest. 

that  if  lie  dismisses  her  she  will  sue  for  damages,  for  she 
has  an  agreement  with  him." 

"  And  she  would  have  right  on  her  side;  but  he  won't 
send  her  off.  The  public  know  all  about  it  now,  and 
won't  be  a  bit  afraid  to-morrow." 

"  Can't  you  hear  them  howling  now  ?  " 

"  They  want  to  know  how  she  is,  man;  why  don't  some 
one  go  forward  and  make  a  speech.  It  is  yovir  only  way 
to  get  out  of  the  scrape." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  good  idea." 

"  And  one  you  ought  to  have  thought  of  long  ago. 
Don't  lose  a  minute.  Draw  up  the  curtain,  and  take  your 
beast-taming  woman  on  to  the  stage." 

"  But  they  are  not  calling  for  her." 

"  Because  they  believe  that  the  beasts  have  eaten  her, 
but  when  they  see  her  safe  and  sound  they  will  applaud 
her  to  the  skies;  there  will  be  a  mad  outburst  of  enthu- 
siasm, and  you  will  see  what  the  papers  will  say  to-mor- 
row. They  fought  to  get  out  this  evening,  next  time 
they  will  fight  to  get  in,  the  theatre  will  make  its  fortune, 
and  the  girl  hers,  into  the  bargain." 

"  You  forget  the  prohibition  to  perform  that  we  shall 
most  likely  receive  to-morrow." 

"  The  poUce  won't  do  anything  of  the  kind  unless  they 
are  compelled  to.  You  can  appeal  to  the  Prefect,  to  the 
Minister,  and  when  you  have  clearly  demonstrated  that 
the  girl  does  not  even  risk  her  skin,  they  will  permit  you 
to  go  on  with  the  performance.  Only  look  sharp  if  you 
don't  want  to  miss  your  effect.  Strike  the  iron  whilst  it 
is  hot." 

"  I  will,"  exclaimed  the  stage  manager,  rushing  to  the 
back  of  the  stage. 

"  They  will  owe  me  one  for  this,"  cried  Valbrec ;  "  but 
we  must  not  stay  here,  for  they  will  be  able  to  see  us  from 
the  front  when  the  curtain  goes  up."  And  speaking  thus, 
he  drew  them  away  into  a  position  of  comparative  secur- 
ity. 

The  scene  shifter  had  already  removed  the  cage  with 
the  invisible  bars,  and  only  a  portion  of  the  scene  remained 
behind,  which  wa  *the  cage  which  formed  the  permanent 
dwelling-place  of  the  lions;  the  front  of  the  stage  there- 
fore was  completely  free.  All  at  once,  without  the 
customary  warning,  the  curtain  went  up,  and  the  noise  in 


THE  felon's  bequest.  191 

the  auditorium  ceased  as  if  by  magic.  There  were  some 
cries  of  "  Sit  down  in  front,  sit  down,"  and  then  profound 
silence  reigned.  Everyone  expected  to  hear  an  announce- 
ment that  nothing  remained  of  Cornelian  but  a  few 
mangled  remains  that  had  been  rescued  from  the  lions, 
but  when  they  saw  her  led  forward  by  the  stage  manager, 
more  full  of  life  and  beauty  than  ever,  there  was  a  burst 
of  applause  that  was  almost  enough  to  bi-ing  down  the 
roof.  Cornelian  looked  superb,  as,  proud  of  her  triumph, 
she  stepped  forward  to  the  footlights,  her  head  erect,  and 
her  eyes  sparkling  with  animation,  then  drawing  herself 
up  she  let  go  Father  Kalingue's  hand  and  saluted  the 
audience  with  her  whip,  as  a  colonel  does  when  his  regi- 
ment marches  past.  Then  she  rapidly  brought  it  down 
to  the  j)ort  and  remained  motionless,  as  though  waiting 
for  the  verdict  of  the  audience.  Three  thousand  voices 
were  raised  in  her  praise.  She  had  won  her  cause,  and 
made  the  fortune  of  the  theatre.  The  audience,  who  had 
just  before  been  execrating  Cornelian  and  the  manager 
for  the  fright  it  had  sustained  now  praised  them  both  to 
the  skies,  and  the  stage  manager  mentally  blessed  Valbrec, 
for  the  advice  he  had  received  from  the  journalist  had 
saved  the  piece.  As  Cornelian  retired  slowly,  keeping 
her  face  to  the  audience,  her  eyes  sought  the  box  where 
she  had  seen  George  and  Cecile  sitting  through  the  hole 
in  the  curtain.  She  had  paid  no  more  attention  to  them 
duiing  her  performance  with  the  lions,  for  she  well  knew 
that  a  moment's  inattention  might  cost  her  her  life,  but 
she  had  not  forgotten  that  she  had  seen  him.  She  did 
not  know  Cecile,  but  she  had  easily  guessed  who  she  was, 
and  her  rival's  presence  had  revived  all  her  feelings  of 
jealousy.  She  fancied  that  George  had  brought  his  mistress 
to  the  theatre  expressly  to  insult  her;  and  she  hated  both 
of  them  with  a  deadly  hatred,  and  revolved  a  thousand 
plans  of  vengeance  in  her  brain,  without  knowing  when 
or  how  to  execute  them,  for  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
appear  in  front  during  the  performance.  She  would  have 
been  turned  out  if  she  had  done  so,  and  reprimanded  by 
the  manager.  She  had  almost  resigned  herself  to  wait 
for  another  opportunity  when  she  saw  that  the  box  was 
empty,  and  wotdd  have  dismissed  all  her  plans  of  ven- 
geance had  not  some  busy  friend  mixed  himself  up  in  the 
matter.  George  Valbrec  and  Cecile,  huddled  up  together 


192  THE  felon's  bequest. 

in  the  wing,  were  standing  immediately  under  a  jet  of  gas, 
which  threw  a  flood  of  light  over  them.  Cornelian  caught 
sight  of  them,  and  all  her  jealous  fury  burst  forth  again. 
She  had  no  time  to  lose,  for  when  the  curtain  dropped 
those  whom  she  wished  to  attack  would  doubtless  return 
to  their  box,  so  she  was  about  to  rush  on  them  at  once, 
when  she  was  checked  by  the  appearance  of  the  manager 
and  various  officials  connected  with  the  theatre,  who  came 
to  congratulate  her  on  her  brilliant  success.  "  It  is  to  M. 
Valbrec  that  we  are  chiefly  indebted,"  cried  the  worthy 
Ralingue.  "  He  advised  me  to  take  Mile.  Cornelian  for- 
ward, and  by  it  he  saved  us;  and  the  idea  of  me,  who 
have  been  stage  manager  here  for  twenty  years,  not  think- 
ing of  such  a  thing,  and  yet  it  was  as  simple  as  it  could 
be!" 

"Valbrec !"  cried  one  of  the  shareholders  i  a  the  theatre 
"  why,  there  he  is !  " 

Just  then  some  of  the  workmen  had  removed  a  portion 
of  the  scene,  which  disclosed  the  journalist.  "  We  will 
carry  him  in  triumph,"  said  another;"  "he  is  with  a 
very  pretty  woman,  and  she  shall  shai'e  it  wi^^^h  him." 

"  Who  is  she  ?"  asked  the  manager. 

*M  think  she  is  the  sweetheart  of  the  young  gentlemen 
who  is  with  him,"  replied  Ralingue. 

"She  ought  not  to  have  been  allowed  behind;  but  since 
she  is  here,  I  will  go  and  do  the  honors  of  the  place  to 
her,  all  on  account  of  that  splendid  fellow  Valbrec,  who 
has  got  us  out  of  such  a  hole,  for  the  representative  of 
the  pohce  has  just  told  me  that  his  report  wi]l  not  recom- 
mend the  suppression  of  Cornelian's  performance;  but  it 
seems  as  if  they  were  going  back  to  the  front  of  the  house 
for  fear  lest  I  should  send  them  there.  E  un,  and  stop 
them." 

Several  gentlemen,  including  Father  Ralingue,  hast- 
ened in  the  direction  of  George  Valbi-ec  and  Cecile. 
Tbis  junction  of  the  two  parties  did  not  meet  Cornelian's 
views  at  all,  for  she  percieved  that  she  could  not  attempt 
to  assault  her  rival  before  so  numerous  a  comjDan}'.  Had 
there  only  been  supers  about  she  would  have  beaten  her 
without  hesitation,  but  in  the  presence  of  the  manager 
and  so  many  influential  gentlemen,  she  had  to  think  twice 
of  what  she  was  going  to  do.  She  was  therefore  forced 
to  remain  quite  close  to  the  cage  in  which  her  lions  were. 


THE  felon's  bequest.  193 

"  Haye  you  seen  her,  mistress  ?"  asked  Goliath,  point- 
ing out  CecUe  from  the  position  where  he  stood,  with  his 
back  to  the  bars  of  the  cage.  Cornelian  took  him  aside 
into  a  cornel',  and  a  dialogue  in  a  low  voice  began  between 
the  Lion  Queen  and  her  servant. 

During  this  time  Valbrec  had  prevented  his  friend 
leaving  the  place  with  Cecile,  as  he  wished  to  do,  and 
introduced  him  to  the  manager  as  a  literary  friend  of  his. 
Upon  this  the  manager,  who  was  a  most  courteous  gen- 
tlemen, begged  that  he  might  be  presented  to  Cecile, 
upon  which  occasion  there  was  much  handshaking,  and 
an  interchange  of  compHments,  and  then  the  polite  man- 
ager offered  his  arm  to  Cecile,  who  did  not  dare  to 
refuse  it.  Cransac  was  greatly  annoyed,  but  he  felt  that 
he  could  make  no  objection  to  Cecile 's  being  shown  round 
that  mysterious  locality  termed  "  behind  the  scenes.' 

"  No  doubt,  madame,"  said  the  courteous  manager," 
you  were  greatly  alarmed  just  now,  but  I  want  to  prove 
to  you  that  these  lions  are  perfect  lambs,  and  of  a  much 
more  gentle  disposition  than  their  mistress,  a  young 
woman  to  whom,  believe  me,  I  shall  not  introduce  you." 

"  She  is  very  handsome,"  murmured  Cecile,  innocently, 
"  and,  oh !  so  courageous  I " 

Cransac  followed  the  pair  in  high  vexation,  while  Val- 
brec whispered  in  his  ear:  "  I  can  see  where  the  saddle 
galls  you.  You  fear  lest  Cornelian  should  go  on  again, 
as  she  did  on  the  night  we  first  saw  her.  There  is  no 
fear  of  that,  my  friend.  Those  kind  of  girls  haven't  a 
very  good  memory.  Don't  be  afraid,  she  won't  eat  up 
Mme.  Cecile,  and  will  keep  her  anger  to  herself.  It  will 
be  amusing  to  watch  her." 

But  George  was  not  at  all  convinced,  and  made  no 
reply,  but  contented  himself  with  keeping  an  eye  on 
Cornehan,  who,  leaning  against  a  support,  looked  on  with 
an  expression  of  face  that  boded  no  good.  Goliath  had 
turned  his  face  to  the  cage,  and  was  keeping  the  animals 
in  motion  by  pricking  them  with  his  pike,  as  if  he  wanted 
to  keep  them  moving. 

"If  you  will  permit  me,  madame,"  continued  the  manager, 
"I  will  take  you  to  the  green-room;  I  only  wanted  you  to 
to  see  our  menagerie  first  because  the  cage  will  shortly  be 
rolled  away  to  make  room  for  another  scene."  Then, 
|;urning  to  Goliath,  who  continued  to  thrust  his  pike 


194  THE  felon's  bequest. 

between  the  bars  of  the  cage,  he  called  out:  "  Here,  you, 
sir,  kindly  let  the  animals  alone,  or  you  will  make  them 
want  to  bite  some  of  us.     There,  that  will  do." 

Goliath  stepped  back,  and  the  lions  began  to  grow  more 
calm. 

"You  see,  madame,"  continued  the  manager,  "they  are 
lying  down.  It  would  almost  make  one  believe  that  the 
beasts  understand  that  they  are  no  longer  before  the  pub- 
lic and  need  not,  therefore,  assume  airs  of  ferocity.  Now 
that  the  fellow  has  ceased  to  annoy  them,  they  have 
stretched  themselves  out  like  rugs.  It  really  seems  as  if 
one  might  recline  on  them." 

"  And  so  their  mistress  can,"  saidValbrec,  with  a  laugh; 
*'  but  I  should  not  advise  you  to  try  it,  my  dear  sir,  though 
I  have  often  seen  her  do  so  at  the  fair  of  Montmartre." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  trying  the  experiment,  I  assure 
you.  It  even  seems  to  me  as  if  we  were  a  little  too  near 
the  cage,  the  bars  are  very  wide  apart,  and  I  should  not 
like  to  catch  a  blow  from  the  claw  of  that  big  fellow  with 
the  black  hairs  in  his  mane,  who  is  pretending  to  b^e 
asleep,  with  his  muzzle  on  his  fore-paws.  He  has  a  sly 
look,  has  he  not,  madame  ?  " 

Cecile  hardly  glanced  at  the  lions,  but  kept  her  eyea 
on  Cornelian,  who  stared  at  her  in  return,  Their  eyes 
had  met,  and  Cecile  asked  herself  why  those  of  the  Lioia 
Queen  were  fixed  upon  hers  with  such  steady  persistence.. 

She  no  longer  saw  Goliath,  who  had  come  close  up  to 
her,  and  was  now  plajdng  with  his  pike,  throwing  it  up  in 
the  air,  and  catching  it  again.  No  one  paid  any  attention  to 
him.  Valbrec  contented  himself  "with  admiring  the 
artistic  attitude  of  Cornelian.  Father  Eallingue  was  giv- 
ing his  last  orders  to  the  workmen,  who  were  to  roll  away 
the  cage  to  the  stable  where  the  Hons  were  kept;  the 
manager  was  only  thinking  how  he  could  best  be  agree- 
able to  Cecile;  and  George,  absorbed  in  his  own  reflec- 
tions, tapped  his  foot  impatiently  on  the  ground,  without 
noticing  what  was  going  on  around  him.  He  could  not 
take  Cecile  away  from  her  obliging  guide,  but  he  was  very 
p,nxious  that  the  trip  behind  the  scenes  should  be  brought 
to  a  speedy  conclusion. 

"  And  now,  madame,"  said  the  manager,  politely,  "  ii 
you  have  quite  done  looking  at  these  ill-favored  animals, 
pft^  I  conduct  jov^  to  the  green-rooni— ^r--" 


THE  felon's  bequest.  195 

He  never  finished  his  speech,  for  at  that  moment  Goliath 
missed  catching  his  pike,  which,  in  falling,^.pricked  the 
nose  of  the  black-maned  Hon,  Injured  in  a  most  sensitive 
part,  the  animal  leapt  to  his  feet  "with  a  loud  roar,  and 
dashing  himself  against  the  bars,  which  quivered  under 
the  shock,  remained  standing  on  his  hind  legs,  his  mouth 
wide  open,  his  paws  in  the  air,  with  every  claw  show- 
ing like  a  Hon  rampant  of  heraldic  lore.  And  to  add 
to  the  misfortune,  Gohath,  in  dashing  forward  to  pick  up 
the  pike  that  he  had  so  clumsily  let  fall,  pushed  against 
Ceciie,  who  fell  with  her  face  against  the  bars  of  the  cage 

The  terrible  claws  of  the  lion  closed  at  once  upon 
Cecile's  shoulder,  she  bent  beneath  the  weight,  and  was 
within  the  reach  of  the  monster's  teeth,  who  had  now 
assumed  a  crouching  post\u-e.  Ceciie  fainted  without 
having  uttered  a  cry,  and  the  hideous  Goliath  made  no 
effort  to  rescue  her.  George  alone  rushed  to  her  aid, 
and  endeavored  to  tear  her  from  the  savage  brute,  but  a 
blow  from  the  other  paw  lacerated  his  hand,  and  the 
grasp  on  Cecile's  left  shoulder  did  not  relax  for  a  mo- 
ment. But  the  brave  young  fellow,  bleeding  profusely, 
was  about  to  retiu-n  to  an  attack  which  might  possibly 
cost  him  his  life,  when  assistance  arrived  from  an  unex- 
pected quarter.  Cornelian,  who  up  to  this  time  had  re- 
mained perfectly  still,  dashed  between  him  and  the  cage, 
and  dealt  the  lion  a  couple  of  heavy  blows  on  the  head 
with  the  but-end  of  her  whip.  The  savage  beast  recog- 
nized its  mistress  and  retreated,  with  a  stifled  growl,  to 
the  other  side  of  the  cage. 

Although  severely  injured,  George  profited  by  the 
moment's  delay  to  snatch  up  Ceciie  in  his  arms  and  carry 
her  out  of  danger.  All  the  workpeople  had  fled  at  the 
sight  of  this  terrible  accident,  and  taken  refuge  at  the 
back  of  the  stage;  thither  George  followed  them,  and 
placed  his  insensible  burden  on  a  bench,  which  fortu- 
nately stood  near.  The  stage  manager  wi-img  his  hands, 
repeating,  "  I  said  that  there  would  be  an  accident ! " 
The  manager  shouted  for  a  surgeon,  and  one  of  his 
friends  ran  ofi"  in  search  of  one.  Valbrec  alone  retained 
his  presence  of  mind,  and  endeavored  to  calm  George 
and  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  accident.  He  suspected 
that  Goliath  had  let  fall  his  pike  on  purpose,  and  that  h« 
had  also  pushed  Ceciie  against  the  bars  of  the  cagej  but 


196  THE  felon's  bequest. 

why  Cornelian  should  have  come  to  the  rescue  of  her 
rival  from  the  claws  of  the  lion  he  could  not  understand, 
for  all  seemed  to  indicate  that  the  keeper  bad  only  exe- 
cuted his  mistress'  orders.  All  of  a  sudden  he  per- 
ceived that  she  was  close  behind  him,  and  before  he  had 
time  to  question  her,  she  whispered  in  his  ear:  "I 
wanted  her  to  have  been  eaten,  but  my  heart  failed  me  at 
the  last  minute.  I  hope  that  she  will  not  die.  I  have 
ha,d  enough  of  vengeance.  Tell  your  friend  to  mistrust 
his  old  love  and  that  scoundrel  Arthur.  It  was  they  Avho 
sold  the  girl  to  the  Spaniard."  With  these  words  Cor- 
nelian disappeared,  and  George,  who  was  on  his  knees 
by  the  side  of  Cecile,  did  not  even  catch  a  glimjDse  of  the 
Queen  of  the  Lions,  who  had  rejoined  Goliath,  and  was 
engaged  with  him  in  superintending  the  removal  of  the 
cage  in  which  the  animals,  excited  by  the  sight  and 
smell  of  blood,  were  roaring  savagely.  At  this  moment 
the  doctor  arrived  and  examined  the  wounded  woman, 
who  had  not  yet  recovered  her  senses,  Cecile's  left  arm 
was  broken  in  two  places,  and  the  claw  had  penetrated 
her  shoulder,  and  had  lacerated  her  breast  above  and 
below  the  collar  bone. 

"  This  is  serious,  most  serious.  The  upper  and  lower 
bones  of  the  arm  have  been  broken,  and  there  is  a  chance 
that  the  lung  has  been  injured.  I  can  do  nothing 
here.  Send  for  an  ambulance,  I  will  go  with  her  to  the 
hospital." 

"  No,"  said  George,  in  a  determined  tone;  "let  her  go 
to  my  house." 

Cecile's  eyes  opened;  she  had  heard  what  he  said,  and 
thanked  him  Avith  a  look  of  gratitude. 

"  To  your  house  ?  Do  not  think  of  such  a  thing,"  said 
Valbrec ;  "  it  is  too  far." 

"  It  is  my  wish,"  answered  George. 

"  I  see  no  harm  in  that,"  remarked  the  doctor.  "  I 
will  see  to  the  injured  lady's  removal,  and  she  will  be 
better  off  in  a  friend's  house  than  in  a  hospital,  and  if  the 
case  is  entrusted  to  me,  I  will  do  my  best" 

This  arrangement  suited  the  manager  completely,  who 
wished  to  proceed  with  the  piece,  and  had  no  desire  to 
see  his  green-room  transformed  into  a  hospital.  He  there- 
fore gave  all  the  necessary  orders.  A  mattress  was 
brought,  upon  which  QQciXe,  who  had  again  relapsed  into 


THE  felon's  bequest.  l97 

a  state  of  insensibility,  was  placed,  and  it  was  carried 
downstairs  by  four  carpenters  to  the  stage  door  which 
opens  into  the  Kue  de  Bondy.  George,  supported  by 
Valbrec,  followed  the  mournful  procession,  which  was 
headed  by  the  medical  man.  Father  EaUngue  had 
remained  with  the  manager,  and  they  were  both  hard  at 
work  in  getting  up  the  scenery  for  the  third  act.  At  the 
stage  door  they  had  to  wait  until  the  litter  with  the 
striped  canvas  covering  could  be  procured  from  the  near- 
est ambulance  depot,  and  the  wounded  woman  might 
expire  in  the  dark  passage  in  which  the  mattress  had 
been  placed  before  it  anived;  but  the  doctor,  who  had 
again  examined  the  wound,  declared  that  there  was  no 
immediate  danger,  and  that  his  patient  could  easily 
endure  the  transit  from  the  Theatre  of  the  Porte  Saint 
Martin  to  the  Rue  Frochot,  but  he  could  not  answer  for 
what  might  take  place  afterwards.  George,  crushed 
down  by  this  unexpected  blow,  remained  silent,  and  Val- 
brec strove  to  cheer  him  up.  "  It  is  all  my  fault,"  said 
he.  "  ]  ought  to  have  warned  you  that  Cornelian  with 
her  lions  was  the  star  of  the  piece,  but  as  a  matter  of 
fact  I  could  not  have  supposed  that  you  had  not  read  the 
playbills.' 

"  I  will  kill  her !  "  interrupted  Cransac. 

"  Who  ?  CorneUan  ?  You  are  wrong.  Without  her  aid 
Cecile  would  have  been  a  dead  woman,  for  the  lions 
would  have  torn  her  to  pieces.  The  keeper  is  the  real 
criminal.  I  advise  you  to  leave  him  alone,  for  you  can- 
not prove  that  he  did  it  all  on  purpose  by  letting  fall  his 
pike,  and  besides,  what  good  would  it  be  ?  You  will  gain 
nothing  by  denouncing  him,  and  may  injure  yourself,  for 
there  will  only  be  too  much  talk  in  Paris  about  this 
melancholy  accident.  How  long  the  litter  is  in  coming," 
added  Valbrec,  stepping  out  into  the  street.  George 
remained  by  the  side  of  Cecile.  The  doctor  was  endeav- 
oring to  make  her  inhale  some  smelling  salts,  but  was 
unsuccessful  in  arousing  her  from  the  state  of  insensi- 
bility into  which  she  had  fallen.  A  small  crowd  had 
collected  outside  the  door,  and  Valbrec  was  endeavoring 
to  prevent  them  approaching  the  spot  too  closely,  when 
a  man  ran  up  quite  out  of  breath,  and  endeavored  to 
pass. 

"Haiti"   cried  the  journalist,  barring  the  passage; 


198  THE  felon's  bequest. 

then  he  added  immediately :  "  What !  is  it  you,  Saintonge. 
Where  the  deuce  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  was  looking  for  you,"  rephed  the  reporter. 

'  And  for  what  reason  ?  " 

"  I  went  into  the  theatre  on  the  chance  of  something 
turning  up,  and  managed  to  get  a  stool  in  the  orchestra. 
I  saw  you  in  a  stage  box,  then  you  suddenly  disappeared, 
and  the  box-opener  said  that  you  had  gone  behind  with 
some  friends.  They  would  not  let  me  through,  and  as  I 
wanted  particularly  to  see  you,  I  went  round  by  the  Eue 
de  Bondy." 

"  What  had  you  to  saj^  to  me  that  was  so  urgent  ?  " 

"  Well,  there  was  a  report  in  the  house  that  a  woman 
had  been  eaten  by  the  lions,  and  I  came  to  ask  you  about 
it  that  I  might  run  off  with  it  to  the  paper.  It  would 
make  a  famous  paragraph,  and  perhaps  we  should  be  the 
only  ones  that  had  it." 

"  You  are  too  full  of  zeal,  my  good  fellow,  and  have 
had  a  run  for  nothing.     Nobody  has  been  eaten." 

"  All  the  worse,"  returned  Saintonge,  innocently. 

"  Yes,  it  is  much  to  be  deplored,"  retiu-ned  Valbrec, 
sarcastically;  "but  go  back  and  re-seat  yourself  on  your 
stool,  if  it  is  only  for  the  sake  of  letting  people  see  that 
there  has  been  no  accident  at  all." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  pity.  Never  mind,  I  shall  make  up  for  it 
to-morrow  at  Montmartre.  Will  your  friend  be  there, 
eh?" 

"I  don't  think  so.  Now  be  off  like  a  good  fellow,  and 
meet  me  at  the  office  at  midnight." 

The  reporter  went  off  sadly,  asking  himself  what  the 
deuce  was  the  matter  with  Valbrec  that  he  shoidd  dismiss 
him  so  cavalierly. 

At  that  moment  Valbrec  perceived  the  bearers  bring- 
ing the  litter  at  the  other  end  of  the  street,  and  just  then 
the  doctor  came  out  on  to  the  steps  of  the  door,  and  said 
to  him  in  a  low  voice :  "  She  will  not  die  of  the  wound 
from  the  claw,  but  the  bites  that  the  lion  has  given  her 
are  terrible.  The  forearm  is  all  of  a  mash,  and  I  much 
fear  we  shall  have  to  amputate.  Poor  woman  !  "  added 
the  doctor,  in  a  tone  of  voice  which  showed  that  he  had 
but  faint  hopes  of  her. 


tHE  felon's  bequest.  199 


CHAPTEK  XXYL  \ 

WHAT   THEY   CAUGHT   IN  THE   TRAP. 

Poor  Saintonge  had  experienced  a  great  disappoint- 
ment at  the  Porte  Saint  Martin  Theatre.  The  paragraph 
which  he  hoped  to  get  inserted  had  been  reduced  to 
nothing,  for  on  his  visit  to  the  office  of  the  paper,  after 
the  conchision  of  the  piece,  Valbrec  had  again  forbidden 
him  to  mention  the  accident  that  had  occurred  behind 
ihe  scenes,  or  even  to  make  any  fresh  inquiries  regard- 
ing it  for,  as  a  friend  of  George  Cransac,  he  wished  that 
this  iinfortunate  affair,  which  was  only  known  to  a  few 
persons,  should  be  completely  buried  into  oblivion,  and 
Saintonge  could  not  help  feeling  that  by  thus  preventing 
liim  from  making  use  of  an  item  of  news  which  would 
have  proved  highly  interesting  to  the  general  public, 
Valbrec  was  absolutely  taking  the  bread  out  of  his 
mouth.  He  was  not  even  able  to  recoup  himself  by  nar- 
rating the  panic  that  had  taken  place  when  it  had  been 
supposed  that  a  fatal  accident  had  happened  to  Cornelian, 
for  it  w^as  the  special  province  of  the  dramatic  critic  of 
the  journal  to  report  all  such  matters,  and  he  would 
permit  of  no  intrusion  in  his  own  domain.  But  by  a 
mere  chance  the  unlucky  reporter  had  another  string  to 
his  bow,  and  the  next  day  might  be  a  very  profitable  one 
for  him,  for  Valbrec  had  in  no  way  prohibited  him  to 
follow  and  report  the  search  operations  which  were 
about  to  be  undertaken  at  Montmartre,  but  had,  on  the 
contrary,  encouraged  him  to  sift  the  matter  thoroughly, 
and  hoped  that  he  would  bring  back  with  him  a  mass  of 
information  which  had,  as  yet,  not  appeared  in  any  of 
the  other  papers,  and  he  had,  therefore,  made  arrange- 
ments to  hear,  and  see  as  much  as  possible,  all  that  was 
going  on. 

One  of  the  greatest  advantages  a  reporter  can  have  is 
to  be  on  friendly  terms  with  the  police,  and  if  he  cannot 
open  relations  with  the  heads  of  departments,  to  be  well 
acquainted  with  some  of  the  higher  classes  of  detectives. 
And  Saintonge  knew  them  all,  and  was  quite  intimate 
with  some  of  them.     He  had  gained  the  good   graces  of 


200        THE  felon's  bequest. 

some  of  the  leading  men  in  the  police  by  getting  them 
l^raised  in  the  paper  to  which  he  was  attached,  and  as  he 
was  not  proud  he  had  conciliated  the  subalterns  by  stand- 
ing them  an  occasional  drink  at  the  wine  shopa  Besides 
all  this,  he  knew  how  to  be  discreet  when  it  was  necessary 
to  be  so,  and  this  quality,  and  a  very  rare  one  it  is  amongst 
reporters;  had  won  for  him  the  respect  and  esteem  of 
some  of  those  in  high  places,  men  who  are  not,  as  a  rule, 
too  prodigal  of  their  civilities  to  outsiders.  The  magis- 
trates themselves  looked  upon  him  with  a  very  favorable 
eye,  and  permitted  him  occasionally  to  assist  indirectly  in 
a  complicated  case,  for  he  had  more  than  once  given  them 
valuable  hints  by  di-awing  their  attention  to  certain  points 
which  might  otherwise  have  escaped  notice;  for  he  was  very 
clear-sighted,  and  his  great  experience  in  his  profession 
had  given  him  the  instincts  of  a  detective,  an  accomplish- 
ment which  he  took  good  care  not  to  boast  about.  In 
return  for  these  little  acts  of  courtesy  they  gave  him  scraps 
of  information  which  they  hid  carefully  from  other  jour- 
nalists, and  it  was  by  these  means  that  he  had  learned, 
before  his  other  professional  brethren,  of  the  search  that 
was  going  to  be  made  in  the  house  and  garden  in  the  Rue 
GabrieUe,  and  how  they  hoped  to  connect  the  murder  of 
Mahossier,  who  had  just  been  released  from  the  prison 
at  Melum,  with  the  famous  robbery  of  a  bank  in  the  Eue 
Poissoniere  in  1877. 

What  is  usually  termed  a  judicial  investigation  does 
not  take  place  without  the  persons  of  the  neighborhood 
taking  some  notice  of  it.  In  a  little  provincial  town  it  is 
looked  upon  as  a  great  event,  especially  when  it  is  carried 
out  with  all  magisterial  pomp  during  a  sitting  of  the 
Court  of  Assize,  with  the  judges  in  their  robes,  the  jury  in 
charge  of  their  foreman,  and  the  police  closing  the  proces- 
sion on  foot.  It  is  an  imposing  spectacle,  and,  with  very  few 
exceptions,  a  perfectly  useless  one.  In  Paris  a  similar 
matter  is  conducted  with  less  ceremony,  and  this  one  was 
to  be  carried  out  in  a  highly  populated  and  little  fre- 
quented neighborhood.  The  examining  magistrate,  the 
commissary  of  police,  and  a  sub-inspector  of  the  detec- 
tive force, had  arranged  to  meet  at  nine  o'clock;  that  is  to 
say,  shortly  after  it  grew  light,  for  the  sun  rises  late  in 
December.  These  gentleman  were  to  assemble  in  the  Eue 
GabrieUe,  which  had  been  placed  in  charge  of  a  squad  of 


THE  felon's  bequest.  201 

policemen  and  a  posse  of  detectives.  Saintonge,  being 
duly  warned  of  the  time  and  place  of  the  meeting,  arrived 
there  at  half -past  eight,  and  found  no  one  to  speak  to  hut 
an  old  sergeant  of  the  detective  force,  with  whom  he  was 
intimately  acquainted.  The  veteran  was  engaged  in 
giving  orders  to  his  men  as  to  the  positions  they  were  to 
take  up,  and  who,  according  to  the  orders  they  had 
received,  dropped  in  one  by  one  from  different  directions. 

"  Good-day,  Daddy  Pigache,"  said  Saintonge,  coming 
up  to  him.     "  I  see  that  our  ideas  coincide." 

"  I  do  not  know,  M.  Saintonge,  if  we  both  see  matters 
in  the  same  light,  but  I  believe  I  understand  my  busi- 
ness fairly;  a  search  is  a  good  thing  but  a  surround  is  a 
better  one." 

"  And  as  the  piece  of  ground  is  open  on  three  sides, 
you  have  posted  men  above  it,  below  it,  and  on  its  right 
side.  I  had  guessed  you  would  do  so,  and  I  see  that  you 
always  follow  out  the  old  principles,  which  are  the  best 
ones  after  all." 

"  Of  course,  we  may  not  nab  anyone,  but  we  are  just 
going  to  make  a  rat-trap " 

"  In  which  you  hope  to  take  the  man  who  knocked 
Mahossier  on  the  head  ?  " 

"  Him,  or  another." 

"  Do  you  reaUy  think,  then,  that  this  scoundrel  has  been 
killed  by  one  of  his  accomphces  of  days  gone  by,  and 
also  in  the  story  of  a  safe  being  carried  off  like  a  mere 
pocket-book  ?  " 

"I  should  think  I  did  believe  in  it;  and  what  is  more, 
may  my  hand  be  burnt  off  if  I  don't  think  that  it  has  been 
brought  here  and  hidden,  either  in  the  house  or  the 
garden.  Those  who  did  the  trick  have  not  made  a  move 
for  seven  years,  because  they  have  been  under  lock  and 
key.  But  now  that  their  time  is  up  they  will  come  to  fish 
up  the  treasure." 

"  But  I  should  think  that  that  has  been  done  already; 
Mahossier's  former  pal,  after  having  got  rid  of  him,  would 
doubtless  have  clapped  his  hands  on  it." 

"  That  is  not  so  sure;  there  are  no  traces  of  the  ground 
having  been  disturbed." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  work  ?  " 

"  That  will  depend  on  the  orders  I  receive.  Whilst 
waiting  for  my  superiors,  I  have  posted  some  men  at  the 


202  THE  felon's  bequest. 

top  to  watch  the  exit  by  the  Place  de  Tertre,  others  to 
guard  the  gate  that  opens  on  to  the  public  flight  of  steps, 
and  a  third  lot  here  in  the  Kue  Gabrielle.  So  that  if  there 
should  happen  to  be  a  fish  in  the  net,  we  shall  have  him 
to  a  certainty." 

"  Here  they  come,"  said  Saintonge,  pointing  to  a  cab 
which  had  drawn  up  some  few  yards  from  the  gate.  Three 
men  dressed  in  black  got  out,  followed  by  a  fourth,  who 
carried  a  barrister's  bag  full  of  papers.*  They  came  up  to 
the  sergeant,  who  at  once  saluted  his  superior  officers. 
Saintonge  did  the  same,  and  then  stepped  on  one  side; 
but  the  magistrate,  who  was  well  acquainted  ^\ith  him,  at 
once  said:  "  Pray  stay  with  us,  sir,  you  may  be  of  service; 
but  I  shall  expect  you  to  send  nothing  to  your  paper  until 
we  authorize  you.  It  may  be  that  we  shall  have  need  of 
the  publicity  which  you  can  give  to  our  proceedings,  but 
it  is  much  more  probable  that  we  may  ask  you  to  keep 
silence  regarding  the  whole  matter.  This  we  shall  decide 
on  the  completion  of  the  search,  at  which  I  permit  you 
to  be  present." 

Saintonge  promised  the  most  implicit  obedience  to  the 
orders,  of  whatever  kind  they  might  be. 

"Has  the  owner  of  the  property  been  summoned?" 
asked  the  magistrate  of  the  commissary  of  the  police,  who 
replied  that  he  had  been  requested  to  attend  at  nine 
o'clock. 

"We  can  begin  without  him,"  remarked  the  former, 
and  I  think  that  it  would  be  as  well  to  commence  with  the 
house.  Later  on,  if  there  is  any  necessity  for  it,  we  can 
dig  up  the  garden;  but  I  do  not  believe  that  the  robbers 
would  have  taken  the  trouble  to  dig  a  hole  in  the  ground 
when  it  would  be  so  much  more  easy  for  them  to  make  a 
hiding-place  in  the  walls.  Sergeant,  select  four  men  to 
come  with  us,  and  let  the  others  keep  watch  on  the  gate 
during  our  absence. " 

The  order  was  at  once  executed.  Pigache,  who  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  locahty,  led  the  way,  whilst  Saintonge 
modestly  brought  up  the  rear. 

The  procession  had  not  much  trouble  in  making  their 
way  through  the  vegetation,  which  Lourdier  had  had 
thinned  before  the  conclusion  of  the  sale  of  the  property 
to  Cransac.  When  they  ai'rived  at  the  path  on  the  right 
which  led  from  the  front  door  to  the  flight  of  steps  at  the 


THE  felon's  bequest.  203 

side,  the  comimssary  pointed  out  the  place  where  the  body 
of  Mahossier  had  been  found,  and  made  the  remark  that 
the  mui'dered  man  and  the  assassin  must  have  walked 
Bide  by  side  on  the  broad  pathway  on  leaving  the  house. 

"Or  before  going  in,"  remarked  the  magistrate;  "for 
there  is  nothing  to  prove  that  they  touched  the  stolen 
money,  even  if  it  is  in  the  house.  But  let  us  inspect  it  first; 
we  can  argue  the  case  afterwards..' 

The  day  had  now  fairly  commenced — a  dull,  gloomy 
day.  Paris  was  shrouded  in  fog  and  mist,  and  the  forms 
of  a  few  passers-by,  who  had  been  attracted  by  the  sight 
of  the  poUce,  could  be  dimly  distinguished  at  the  other 
end  of  the  garden. 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  said  the  magistrate,  pointing  to  the 
ruined  house.  Two  of  the  police  went  in  first,  but  they 
had  no  sooner  crossed  the  threshold  than  they  drew  back. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  have  found  ?  "  asked  the  commis- 
sary, who  was  following  them  closely. 

As  they  made  no  reply,  he  stepped  forward,  and  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room  saw  a  man  lying  on  his  face  in  a 
heap  of  fallen  plaster.  The  man  was  in  so  sound  a  sleep 
that  he  never  woke  when  the  commissary  called  out  in  a 
loud  and  triumphant  tone:  "  We  have  got  one  of  them,  at 
any  rate." 

Everyone  pressed  forward,  and  the  magistrate,  without 
a  sign  of  emotion,  remarked:  "That  is  fortunate;  wake 
him." 

ThepoHcemen  seized  the  sleeper,  and  shook  him  so 
violently  that  at  last  he  opened  his  eyes.  His  first  word 
was  "  Copped;"  then,  as  he  scrambled  up  in  a  sitting  pos- 
ture, he  muttered,  "  Just  like  my  luck." 

The  man  was  dressed  in  a  brown  jacket,  and  had  large 
iron-shod  boots  on;  his  face  was  clean-shaved,  and  his 
closely-cut  hair  smacked  strongly  of  prison  discipline. 

"  What  I  another  released  prisoner  ?  "  asked  the  magis- 
trate. 

"No;  an  escaped  one  this  time,"  said  the  commissary. 
"I  know  him,"  and  placing  his  hand  upon  the  man's 
shoulder,  who  looked  at  him  with  a  stupefied  air,  he  said: 
"  You  are  Pierre  Trouillard." 

The  man  turned  pale,  but  recovered  himself  in  a  moment; 
then  shrugging  his  shouldera,  replied  with  a  sneer:  "No 


201        THE  felon's  bequest. 

use  in  saying  I  ain't.     Why,  it  was  you  as  nabbed  me 
three  mouths  ago." 

"  For  robbery  from  the  person  with  violence.  You  were 
sentenced  to  twenty  years  by  the  Assize  Court  of  the 
Seine  on  the  26th  of  last  November.  You  refused  to  appeal, 
and  were  sent  off  to  the  Isle  of  Rhe  fifteen  days  ago.  You 
were  most  anxious  to  be  sent  to  New  Caledonia,  but  it 
seems  that  you  have  altered  your  mind,  since  we  find  you 
here." 

"It  seems  like  it," growled  Trouillard. 

"  How  did  you  contrive  to  escape  ?  '* 

"  You  ought  to  know  well  enough." 

"  I  know  that  you  jumped  overboard  during  your  transit 
from  the  prison  to  the  vessel,  and  that  you  were  reported 
as  dead." 

"  Well,  then,  the  report  was  wrong,  you  see;  but  it 
proves  that  I  swim  well,  and  dive  bettei'." 

"Then  you  must  have  reached  the  coast  and  come  to 
Paris  ?  " 

"  Yes,  tramped  it  in  seven  nights,  at  the  rate  of  twelve 
leagues  each  night;  and  all  that  for  you  to  come  and  nab 
me  here.     It  is  just  Hke  my  luck." 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  you  had  good  reason  for  turning  up 
on  the  Hill  of  Montmartre  ?  " 

"  You  didn't  expect  me  to  go  to  the  Grand  Hotel,  did 
you?  I  came  here,  as  I  might  have  gone  anywhere  else.  I 
found  the  crib  empty,  and  I  did  my  '  doss '  here.  It's 
always  better  than  to  sleep  under  the  '  blue  blanket '  in 
the  middle  of  winter.  I  am  generally  pretty  wakeful, 
but  I  slept  too  late.  Fact  is,  I  was  done  up.  It's  along 
way  from  the  sea  to  Paris." 

"So  it  is;  but  since  your  arrival  you  have  had  plenty 
of  time  for  a  rest." 

"Have  I?  Why,  I  got  here  at  three  o'clock  this 
morning,  and  was  in  my  first  sleep  when  your  'blue 
bottles'  clapped  their  hands  on  me." 

"You  lie.     You  were  in  Paris  eight  days  ago." 

"  What  rot  ?  At  that  rate,  I  should  have  walked  as 
fast  as  the  trains." 

This  answer  struck  the  commissary,  who  was  acquainted 
with  the  exact  date  of  Trouillard's  escape,  and  if  the  man  ■ 
had  walked  the  distance,  as  he  said  he  had,  it  would  have 


THE  felon's  bequest.  205 

been  practically  impossible  for  him  to  have  reached  Paris 
sooner  than  the  past  night. 

The  magistrate  noticed  the  embarrassment  of  his  col- 
league, and  came  to  his  aid. 

"Do  you  know  a  man  named  Mahossier?"  asked  he 
suddenly. 

"  Mahossier  ?  Yes,  I  knew  a  bloke  of  that  name,  before," 
answered  the  man,  without  the  least  hesitation. 

"Was  he  a  thief?" 

"  Well,  yes,  he  was  on  that  lay;  and  the  proof  of  it  is 
that  he  got  seven  years  in  the  Central,  which  he  ought  to 
have  about  worked  off  by  this  time." 

"  He  was  Hberated  last  week." 

"  All  the  better  for  him.  He  has  done  his  time,  whilst 
mine  is  beginning  again,  and  this  time  I  shan't  get  off 
so  easily.  But  why  do  you  ask  me  about  him  ?  Has  he 
been  copped  again  already  ?  " 

"  He  is  dead." 

"EeaUy.    What  did  he  die  of  ?  " 

"  He  was  murdered,  most  likely  by  some  of  his  accom- 
plices." 

"Ah !  see  what  a  bad  thing  it  is  to  have  disreputable 
acquaintances." 

"  He  was  murdered  here  in  this  garden." 

"  That's  rum.  What  was  he  dodging  about  here  for  ? 
This  isn't  his  part  of  the  toAvn." 

"  He  came  upon  the  same  errand  as  you  did." 

"  I  don't  tumble  to  your  patter." 

"  I  mil  endeavor  to  help  your  memory.  You  knew,  I 
suppose,  that  Mahossier  was  sentenced  in  1877  for  having 
taken  part  in  the  robbery  of  a  banking  house  in  the 
Faubourg  Poissoniere.  Five  rolls  of  gold  were  found  on 
him  which  belonged  to  the  safe  that  had  been  plundered, 
but  no  one  has  ever  found  out  what  became  of  that  safe, 
which  contained  nearly  two  millions." 

"  That  was  good  business,"  sneered  Trouillard,  who 
was  evidently  growing  uneasy. 

"  Well,  when  Mahossier  came  out  of  prison,  he  lost  no 
time  in  going  to  look  for  this  money;  only,  unfortunately 
for  himself,  he  did  not  go  alone." 

"I  shouldn't  have  thought  he  was  such  a  fool." 

"  He  came  with  some  accomplice  of  former  years,  wljo 
killed  him  with  a  blow  of  a  stick," 


206  THE  felok's  bequest. 

«  Oh  1  so  Mahossier  had  an  accomplice,  had  he  ?  " 

"  Two  at  the  le^st,  as  you  know  perfectly." 

"  How  should  I  know  it  ?  I — ah  !  that  is  coming  it 
too  strong.  If  I  had  nicked  two  millions,  I  should  not 
have  spent  my  life  in  prison.  You  just  look  at  my  sheet. 
I  have  been  senten  ced  four  times  in  seven  months,  three 
of  which  were  police  court  affairs,  for  twopenny-half- 
penny thefts;  then  I  got  twenty  years,  and  was  on  my 
way  across  the  herring  pond ;  but  as  for  this  banking 
business,  I  wasn't  in  it.  Since  then  I  haven't  been  out 
of  the  stone  jug  for  three  months  at  a  time,  and  I  was 
forbidden  to  remain  in  Paris." 

"  That  explains  why  you  didn't  take  the  money  from 
where  you  had  hidden  it  after  the  robbery.  You  were 
so  well  watched  that  you  did  not  dare  to  come  here. 
Mahossier  ventured,  but  that  was  after  he  had  been 
released." 

"He  may  have  done  so,  but  he  didn't  come  with 
me.  After  I  had  got  over  my  hunger,  I  used  to  tramp 
along  the  roads  by  night,  and  slept  in  the  woods  by 
day." 

"Why  were  you  in  such  a   hurry   to  get  to  Paris,  . 
then  ?  " 

"  Because  one  can  hide  oneself  better  in  Paris  than 
anywhere  else." 

"  And  because  you  were  anxious  to  get  hold  of  your 
two  millions." 

"  What !  do  you  think  they  are  here  ?  " 

"  If  they  are  not  it  is  because  Mahossier's  murderer 
has  carried  them  off." 

"  Good;  but  if  I  had  done  the  trick  should  I  have 
come  back  to  hang  about  the  empty  place  when  I  had 
pouched  the  swag  ?  " 

"  We  shall  find  out  if  it  is  empty,  and  pull  down  the 
house  if  necessary." 

"  That  will  make  the  owner  grin  on  the  wrong  side  of 
his  mouth." 

"  And  so  it  will  you,  though  you  pretend  to  joke  about 
it.  The  search  is  about  to  commence,  and  you  shall  be 
present  at  it. 

"  Very  good.  I  am  anxious  to  look  on ;  only  let  your 
chaps  put  me  on  my  feet,  for  they  are  holding  me  lijje  ft 
trussed  fowl," 


THE  felon's  bequest.        207 

On  a  sign  from  the  magistrate,  the  policemen  aided 
Trouillard  to  rise  to  his  feet,  but  did  not  relax  their  hold 
on  him. 

During  this  examination  the  sub-inspector  had  been 
examining  the  walls  and  corners  of  the  ground  floor 
room,  where  Cransac  had  been  surprised  by  Mahossier, 
and  he  had  not  neglected  to  inspect  the  chimney-piece, 
and  bent  down  to  get  a  better  view  of  it.  After  having 
sounded  it,  he  went  up  to  the  magistrate  and  whispered 
in  his  ear.  Trouillard,  who  was  securely  held  by  the  two 
policemen,  still  affected  indifference,  but  he  had  lost 
much  of  his  self-possession,  and  Saintonge,  who  watched 
him  narrowly,  noticed  that  every  now  and  then  he  stole  a 
glance  at  the  plate  in  the  chimney.  The  magistrate 
whispered  an  order  to  the  sergeant,  who  at  once  set  to 
work,  and  bending  down,  seized  the  iron  pin  with  both 
his  hands,  and  drew  it  in  a  downward  direction  with  all 
his  strength.     The  plate  never  moved. 

"  Try  and  turn  it,"  said  the  magistrate. 

Pigache  did  so,  and  the  sound  of  bolts  creaking  as  they 
left  their  sockets  was  at  once  heard. 

"  Now  we  have  it,"  said  the  commissary.  "  Pull  it 
down."  At  the  first  effort  the  plate  opened,  for  it 
worked  easier  now  than  it  did  when  Cransac  had  first 
opened  it. 

"  I  am  done,"  growled  Trouillard,  as  he  saw  the  plat« 
open. 


208  THE  felon's  bequest. 

CHAPTEE  XXVn. 

"a  skeleton  foem  lay  smouldeeesg  theee." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  which  was  broken  by 
the  voice  of  the  sub-inspector.  "  Then  you  confess  ?  " 
asked  he,  quickly. 

"  I  confess  the  robbery,"  answered  the  convict,  "  but  I 
didn't  kill  Mahossier.  I  haven't  seen  him  since  we  cracked 
the  crib  together;  besides,  we  were  both  of  us  nabbed — 
I  the  next  day,  he  the  day  after,  and  not  for  the  same 
job.  I  was  quodded  for  six  months  over  an  assault  case; 
without  that  I  shouldn't  have  let  the  two  millions  rust  in 
this  hole." 

"  Then  there  is  really  two  millions  here  ?  "  asked  the 
magistrate  quickly,  who  knew  by  experience,  that  it  is 
necessary  to  press  a  prisoner  closely  when  he  enters  on 
the  road  of  confession,  for  if  he  is  given  the  time  to 
reflect  he  often  stops  short  and  retracts  what  he  has 
already  admitted. 

But  TrouiUard  had  evidently  decided  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  and  he  answered  without  hesitation :  "  There 
were  nineteen  hundred  and  forty-five  thousand  francs: 
three  hundred  and  fifty-six  thousand  in  bank  notes  in  a 
pocket-book,  and  the  rest  in  gold.  You  can  count  it,  and 
see  if  I  am  not  right.  If  I  tell  you  the  truth,  it  is  because 
lying  won't  serve  my  turn.  Now  that  you  have  got  me 
again,  you  will  send  me  off  to  New  Caledonia,  and  I  shan't 
be  able  to  dodge  you  a  second  time,  therefore  I  shall 
never  profit  by  the  swag  there;  nor  will  Mahossier,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  since  he  has  turned  uj)  his  toes.  I 
don't  shirk  sjDitting  it  all  out,  for  even  if  you  give  me  an 
additional  stretch  for  it,  at  my  age,  twenty  years  or  life 
is  pretty  much  the  same ;  but  I  don't  want  to  have  my 
neck  slit,  and  I  don't  funk  at  its  being  so,  for  I  did  not 
kill  Mahossier." 

"  Can  you  prove  that  it  was  not  you  who  committed 
the  crime  ?  "  asked  the  magistrate. 

"  If  I  had  given  him  the  crack  on  the  crown  I  should 
Jiave  pouched  the  swag  and  taken  m^  hook,    Now,  look 


THE  felon's  bequest.  209 

here.  "Would  you  like  me  to  tell  you  how  it  all  took 
place  seven  years  ago  ?  We  each  of  us  took  five  rolls  of 
gold,  a  thousand  francs  each,  and  agreed  that  we  would 
meet  again  every  night  and  empty  the  place  Httle  by 
little;  but  luck  was  against  us,  and  forty-eight  houi'S 
afterwards  we  were  both  nabbed  on  separate  charges.  I 
was  as  drunk  as  an  owl,  and  someone  robbed  me  of  my 
share  while  I  was  snoring  on  a  bench  in  the  Boulevard 
Rochechouart.  Mahossier  kept  bis,  and  it  was  found  on 
him,  and  that  was  what  got  him  his  stretch  of  seven." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  if  you  did  not  see  him  again? " 

"  By  our  pals;  all  those  who  come  into  quod  bring  us 
news  of  what  goes  on  among  the  prigs.  Why,  in  La 
Roquette  I  heard  when  Mahossier  was  coming  out  of  the 
Central,  and  I  made  sure  that  he  would  take  a  turn  this 
way,  and  when  I  cut  my  lucky,  I  hoped  to  get  here  before 
him.  Well,  it  seems  that  he  did  me  and  pot  here  the 
first,  but  it  doesn't  seem  as  if  it  did  him  much  good,  since 
some  one  knocked  his  brains  out  for  him.  I  am  sorry, 
though  he  did  try  to  collar  all  the  swag  for  himself." 

"  Who  killed  him  then,  if  you  didn't  ?  " 

"I  don't  know;  perhaps  some  pal  who  he  was  fool 
enough  to  bring  with  him  to  help  him  lift  to  the  shiners. 
He  wasn't  very  strong,  poor  Mahossier,  nor  very  fly  neither. 
At  any  rate,  if  that  is  the  way  the  thiug  went,  there 
ought  to  be  a  deficiency  in  the  pewter  or  the  paper,  the 
exact  amount  of  which  I  have  told  you.  Coimt  it  and 
see." 

"And  your  other  accomplice?  You  say  nothing  of 
him  ?  Do  not  look  surprised.  The  third  robber  was  the 
bank  messenger,  who  slept  near  the  safe." 

"  What,  do  you  know  that  too  ?  Then  I  don' t  see  why  I 
should  not  tell  you  all  about  it.  He  was  the  chap  that  put 
up  the  job.  He  helped  us  to  get  the  safe  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  to  wheel  it  off  to  this  crib.  It  wasn't  very  large, 
but  we  had  no  end  of  trouble  with  it,  and  it  was  he  that 
broke  it  open  with  some  tools  he  had  brought." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  We  put  it^n  the  truck  again  when  we  had  emptied  it, 
and  carted  it  as  far  as  Saint  Ouen,  where  we  pitched  it 
into  the  Seine.     It  is  most  likely  stiU  there." 

"Good;  and  the  bank  messenger?" 

"  Ah !  I  never  heard  anything  more  of  him.     He  knew 


210  THE  felon's  beques* 

Mahossier  better  than  he  did  me.  All  I  know  about  him 
was  that  he  wasn't  copped." 

"  Yes,  all  trace  of  him  was  lost,  and  it  was  supposed 
that  he  was  murdered  by  his  accomplices." 

"  It  was  by  Mahossier,  then,  not  by  me,  for  I  never  saw 
him  after  the  trip  to  Saint  Ouen;  he  had  his  share,  Uke 
the  rest  of  us,  five  rolls  of  gold.  Perhaj^s  some  one  killed 
him  for  them.  What  makes  me  think  that  he  is  dead  is 
that  if  he  had  been  alive  he  would  have  certainly  come 
here  and  collared  the  swag.  The  best  thing  you  can  do 
is  to  see  if  the  money  is  all  right." 

Trouillard  was  right.  The  magistrate  should  hav(j 
commenced  by  verifying  the  amount  in  the  hiding-place, 

"  To  me,"  remarked  Trouillard,  "  it  looks  as  if  the  heap 
had  gone  done  a  bit,  but  better  count  it  to  make  sure; 
but  mind  you  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  hole.  I  dug  il 
and  put  up  the  movable  plate,  and  the  work  does  m({ 
credit  I  took  six  months  over  it.  I  am  an  engineer  hv 
trade." 

"Six  months!"  repeated  the  magistrate.  "Then  the 
robbery  was  a  premeditated  one  ?" 

"  I  should  just  think  it  was.  The  job  had  been  talked 
of  for  a  year  before  we  did  the  trick.  It  was  the  banlc 
messenger  who  pointed  out  the  house  in  the  Rue  Gab- 
rielle  to  us.  It  was  not  inhabited  then,  and  you  could 
go  in  and  out  as  you  liked.  That  was  just  what  suited  us, 
because,  as  you  can  understand,  we  couldn't  walk  into 
the  cribs  where  we  dossed  with  a  couple  of  millions  in 
our  pockets.  We  wanted  a  warehouse  until  we  could 
slip  into  a  new  skin,  little  by  little,  you  know.  I  shovdd 
have  gone  into  the  country  and  lived  on  my  revenue. 
Mahossier  was  going  to  start  as  a  restaurant  and  wine 
shop  keeper  outside  the  barriers.  The  bank  man  was  a 
German,  and  was  going  back  to  his  own  country.  We 
had  calculated  that  at  the  end  of  two  or  three  weeks,  by 
coming  here  every  night,  and  taking  away  five  thousand 
yellow  boys  each  time,  "we  might  have  cleared  the  place 
out,  and  we  had  sworn  that  one  would  never  come  with- 
out the  other  two.  We  were  to  meet  every  night  at  8» 
pub  in  the  Chaussee  Clignancourt.  It  was  the  lush  thalt 
spoilt  everything.  I  was  mad  drunk  the  first  day,  and 
the  next  both  Mahossier  and  I  were  quodded.  You  are 
g;oing  to  say,  how  about  the  bank  chap  ?    Why  did  the;f 


THE  felon's  bequest.  211 

never  nab  him  ?  Wellrl  think  that  he  must  have  in  some 
way  been  finished  off  the  night  after  we  carried  off  the 
safe.  I  may  be  wrong,  of  course,  but  that  is  my  idea; 
and  I  tell  to  you  because,  having  nothing  to  lose,  I  feel 
inclined  to  play  square."  -» 

The  magistrate  had  listened  to  all  these  revelations 
with  the  attention  they  deserved,  and  began  to  believe 
that  they  were  true.  All  that  he  had  to  do  was  to  follow 
the  advice  of  the  convict,  and  make  an  inventory  of  the 
contents  of  the  treasure.  Two  of  the  pohcemen  went  to 
work  at  once,  and  soon  had  the  packets  of  gold  spread 
out  on  the  floor.  They  were  proceeding  to  count  them, 
when  Trouillard  exclaimed,  "  But  the  pocket-book — where 
is  the  pocket-book  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  more  in  the  hole,  nothing  but  sand,** 
answered  one  of  the  pohcemen,  after  liaving  carefully 
felt  all  round  the  bottom  of  the  hiding-place. 

"  Then  I  have  been  robbed,"  cried  the  convict.  "  It  is 
just  as  I  thought.  Mahossier  came  here  with  a  pal, 
who  killed  him,  and  then  fiUed  his  pockets;  unless, 
indeed " 

"Ah,  I  have  got  something  now,"  continued  the 
policeman.  "  But  it  is  not  a  pocket-book;  it  feels  like 
bones." 

At  this  unexpected  announcement  there  was  a  pro- 
found sensation  amongst  all  those  present.  The  magis- 
trate, the  commissary,  and  the  sub-inspector  all  drew  up 
closer  to  the  chimney-piece.  Saintonge,  who  had  stood 
modestly  on  one  side,  did  not  venture  to  come  any 
nearer,  but  he  trembled  with  inward  delight.  His 
paper  would  have  the^  first  news  of  the  discovery  of 
a  body. 

Trouillard  did  not  betray  much  emotion,  but  he 
seemed  as  much  surprised  as  the  others.  "  After  all,  it 
may  be  Martin,  of  the  bank,  and  Mahossier  may  have 
given  him  one  the  next  day  whilst  I  was  asleep  on  the 
boulevard.  Fancy  the  dogs  ha\'ing  put  their  heads  to- 
gether to  rob  me  on  the  very  first  evening !  " 

The  policeman,  who  was  scraping  with  both  hands  in 
the  sand,  brought  out  a  fragment  of  a  coat  with  a  copper 
button  with  two  letters  in  relief  on  it,  a  B  and  a  C,  the 
same  as  those  that  were  on  the  pocket-book  that  Cran- 


212  THE  felon's  bequest. 

sac  had  taken  away  with  him  on  the  occasion  of  his  last 
visit. 

"  These  are  the  iaitials  of  the  banker  whose  safe  was 
robbed,"  said  the  commissary.  '  It  is  the  body  of  the 
bank  messenger  that  we  have  discovered." 

"  Eight  you  are,"  cried  the  convict,  "  and  it  must  have 
been  done  as  I  tell  you.  Mahossier  killed  Martin  to 
keep  it  aU;  and  he  would  have  done  the  same  to  me  if 
we  had  not  both  been  quodded,  and  later  on  he  got  a 
crack  on  the  skull.  I  don't  know  who  gave  it  to  Lim, 
but  it  served  him  right,  for  he  has  taken  the  pocket-book 
and  the  missing  packets  of  gold." 

"  What  did  he  do  with  it,  then  ? "  asked  the  magis- 
trate, "for  he  had  only  five  thousand  francs  on  him 
when  arrested.  Only  five  thousand  francs,  and  not  a 
single  note." 

"  He  had  hidden  the  rest,  of  course." 

"That  is  impossible;  and  instead  of  accusing  a  dead 
man,  who  cannot  contradict  you,  it  would  be  better  for 
you  to  attempt  to  justify  yourself." 

"  Justify  yom-self !  and  what  about?  You  know  well 
enough  that  I  neither  killed  Martin  or  Mahossier. 
Had  I  killed  either  of  them,  I  should  not  have  been  such 
an  ass  as  to  tell  you  that  I  was  mixed  up  in  the  robbery 
of  '77;  and  if  I  had  not  split  upon  myself  you  would 
never  have  been  able  to  prove  that  I  came  here  for  any- 
thing but  to  take  a  sleep." 

"  You  were  found  here,  and  that  is  quite  enough  to 
cause  you  to  be  suspected  of  both  murders.  It  is  for 
you  to  prove  that  you  are  not  the  assassin,  and  at 
present  you  have  failed  to  do  so.  Have  you  anything 
more  to  say  before  X  send  you  to  the  House  of 
Detention  ?  " 

"No,  it  isn't  worth  while  to  jaw  any  longer.  You 
would  not  believe  me;  suppose  I  had  taken  away  the 
pocket-book  and  bidden  it  somewhere  else?  It  held 
three  hundred  and  fifty-six  thousand  francs.  Would  not 
that  have  contented  a  man  without  his  coming  here  to 
get  nabbed?" 

"  At  any  rate,  it  has  gone,  and  who  can  have  taken  it 
if  it  was  neither  you  nor  your  former  accomplice, 
Mahossier  ?  " 


THE  felon's  bequest.  213 

"  Perhaps  it  was  some  one  who  found  out  the  secret  of 
the  hidding-place  in  my  absence." 

"  If  any  one  had  done  so  they  woiild  haA'e  left  nothing 
behind  them." 

"That  remains  to  be  seen.  Suppose  he  had  not  the 
time  to  take  it  all  at  once,  or  that  he  was  going  to  act 
like  us,  and  empty  the  hiding-place  Httle  by  little  ?  If 
that  is  his  game  he  will  begin  again,  and  to  nab  him  at 
his  next  visit  you  have  only  to  set  the  trap  afresh." 

This  argument  seemed  to  have  some  effect  on  the 
judge,  who  began  to  reflect,  for  he  saw  that  in  the  pres- 
ent examination  he  should  draw  nothing  further  from 
the  man,  and  he  was  resolved  not  to  send  him  off  to  the 
Isle  of  Rhe  with  another  term  of  penal  servitude  to  work 
out  until  all  these  mysteries  had  been  cleared  up.  He 
half  believed  that  Trouillard  had  not  killed  any  one,  but 
it  was  necessary  to  have  him  in  readiness  if  an  inquiry 
should  be  set  on  foot  regarding  the  two  murders  and 
the  robbery  perpetrated  in  1877.  It  was,  however,  nec- 
essary to  remove  the  gold  spread  about  over  the  floor, 
and  to  have  the  remains  which  had  been  discovered  in 
the  sand  examined  by  a  medical  man;  but  it  was  not 
necessary  that  the  convict  should  be  present  at  either  of 
these  operations. 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  tell  me?"  asked  he,  gazing 
steadily  at  the  criminal. 

Trouillard  hesitated  for  a  moment;  but  at  last  he 
decided  to  speak,  and  give  a  last  piece  of  information. 
"  I  repeat  to  you,  that  very  likely  the  pocket-book  was 
taken  away  whilst  I  was  temporarily  at  Mazas,"  said  he 
hurriedly.  "  I  am  almost  sure  of  it  now,  and  this  is  the 
reason.  It  was  all  owing  to  an  act  of  folly  that  I  com- 
mitted, but  perhaps  it  may  help  me  a  little  if  I  tell  you 
all  about  it." 

"  This  is  enough  preamble,"  interruped  the  magistrate. 
"  Come  to  facts,  for  I  am  in  a  hurry." 


214  TEE  felon's  bequest. 


CHAPTEE  XXVin. 

PIEEEE    TROmr-LAKD    SPEAKS. 

Again  the  convict  paused  for  a  few  moments,  and  then, 
as  though  he  had  suddenly  made  up  his  mind,  he  began 
to  speak  with  great  volubility. 

"  Look  here,  sir,  as  soon  as  I  was  committed  for  trial 
my  lawyer  did  not  hide  from  me  that  my  case  was  a  bad 
one,  and  that  I  was  booked  for  twenty  years;  so  I  said  to 
myself  that  I  should  never  get  back  across  the  herring 
pond,  to  pick  up  my  two  millions,  and  it  bothered  me 
awfully  to  think  that  no  one  would  benefit  by  them 
except  Mahossier,  and  I  had  my  knife  in  him,  and  so  the 
idea  got  into  my  head  that  I  would  make  a  present  of 
them  to  some  one." 

"How  could  }ou  manage  to  do  that?" 

"  111  just  tell  you  how  I  did  it.  I  expect  you  know 
that  when  we  are  out  in  the  exercise-yard  at  Mazas  we 
can  telegraph  to  our  next  door  neighbors,  by  throwing 
things  over  the  wall  between  us;  we  chuck  over  tobacco, 
or  a  bit  of  paper  rolled  round  a  pebble." 

The  magistrate  cast  an  inquiring  glance  at  the  sub-in- 
spector, who  replied:  "  He  is  quite  right;  it  is  impossible 
for  the  warders  to  prevent  its  being  done." 

"  Well,"  continued  TrouiUard,  "  I  had  a  neighbor  who 
acted  like  a  trump  to  me.  He  chucked  over  whatever  I 
wanted;  such  bundles  of  cigars — I  never  smoked  such 
bang-up  stuff  in  my  Hfe.  So  I  says  to  myself,  "As  well 
this  chap  as  another,'  and  I  slings  over  a  note,  which 
showed  him  the  whole  bag  of  tricks,  the  road  to  take,  the 
house  in  the  Rue  GabrieUe,  the  way  to  open  the  plate — 
in  short,  everything." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  got  this  note?"  asked 
the  magistrate,  eagerly. 

"Got  it? — I  should  think  he  just  did;  and  as  he  had 
written  to  me  the  evening  before  that  he  was  going  out 
of  the  jug,  I  don't  expect  that  he  lost  any  time  in  profit- 
ing by  the  tip  I  had  given  him,  which  I  shouldn't  have 
done  if  I  had  been  cocksure  of  getting  away  from  the 
Isle  of  Rhe.     But  now  I  am  landed.     The  rogue  came 


THE  FELON^S  BEQUEST.  216 

here  and  filled  bis  pockets,  beginning  with  the   pocket- 
book,  ■which  was  the  easiest  to  carry  off." 

"  Then  this  man  killed  Mahossier  ?  " 

"I  know  nothing  about  that.  I  don't  believe  they 
knew  each  other.  A  chap  that  smoked  such  prime  baccy 
must  have  been  a  bang  up  swell  faker,  and  you  know 
that  Mahossier  was  not  in  that  swim;  but  they  may 
have  come  across  each  other  here  one  night,  for  aU 
that." 

"  You  don't  know  the  name  of  this  man  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  why  he  was  in  quod  either;  and,  of  course, 
1  never  set  eyes  on  him.  One  may  live  in  Mazas  for 
fifteen  years  alongside  one's  own  brother  and  not  know 
it.  Nor  do  I  expect  that  he  knows  any  more  of  me  than 
,[  do  of  him." 

The  magistrate  made  a  mental  note  of  the  unexpected 
result  of  solitary  confinement  in  prisons,  and  began  to 
think  how  he  could  utilize  the  convict's  statement,  which 
had  an  air  of  probability  about  it. 

"  Then,"  continued  he,  "  your  next  door  neighbor  was 
discharged,  I  suppose,   for  want  of  sufficient  evidence  ?  " 

"I  believe  so,' answered  Trouillard.  "On  the  piece 
of  paper  he  tossed  over  to  me,  he  had  written,  '  I  shan't 
be  here  to-morrow,'  which  might  have  meant,  'I  am 
about  to  be  transferred  elsewhere ';  but  since  he  has 
been  taking  a  walk  in  this  direction,  I  should  think  he 
had  ,been  let  out." 

This  statement  would  not  bear  sifting,  for  it  would 
have  been  first  necessary  to  prove  that  this  unknown 
who  had  been  the  recipient  of  the  convict's  confidence 
had  profited  by  it;  but  the  magistrate,  as  a  preliminary 
step,  drew  the  sub-inspector  on  one  side,  and  gave  him 
certain  instructions  as  to  examining  the  registers  of  the 
Mazas  prison,  to  ascertain  the  names  of  those  prisoners 
who  had  been  released  when  Trouillard  was  thei'e,  pre- 
vious to  his  appearance  before  the  Assizes,  and,  as  these 
registers  were  kept  with  scrupulous  regularity  and 
exactitude,  the  search  would  be  neither  long  or  diffi- 
cult. 

Nothing  now  remained  but  to  sign  the  warrant  for  the 
escaped  convict's  committal  to  the  House  of  Detention, 
itnd  this  the  magistrate  did  at  once,  using  the  bag  of  the 


216  THE  felon's  bequest. 

clerk,  who  produced  the  necessary  printed  form,  as  a 
desk.     "  Take  the  prisoner  away,"  said  the  magistrate. 

"It was  high  time,"  growled  Trouillard;  "take  me  off 
to  the  cells,  I  can  hardly  stand  on  my  legs,  and  there,  at 
any  rate,  I  shall  be  able  to  have  a  lay  down."  Then,  as 
the  constables  adjusted  his  handcuffs,  he  added:  "I 
should  have  liked  to  take  a  squint  to  see  if  it  is  really 
Martin's  carcass  down  there,  but  that  copper  button 
almost  settles  the  case;  besides  there  can't  be  much  of 
him  left,  and  I  should  have  no  end  of  trouble  in  recogniz- 
ing him.  Take  me  off,  theu :  all  I  ask  is  a  cab,  for  I  can 
hardly  put  one  foot  before  the  other." 

Just  after  he  had  been  removed,  one  of  the  constables 
whom  the  sergeant  had  posted  iu  front  of  the  gate  lead- 
ing into  the  Eue  Gabrielle  came  in  to  inform  the 
magistrate  that  the  owner  of  the  property  was  in  the 
garden,  and  was  ready  to  appear  before  him,  whenever 
his  presence  was  required. 

"  I  don't  want  him  to  come  in  here,"  said  the  magis- 
trate after  a  moment's  reflection.  "  I  will  speak  to  him 
outside.  Take  him  into  the  path  on  the  right  that  skirts 
the  terrace;  and  until  the  medical  man  makes  his  appear- 
ance, will  you,  sir,"  turning  to  the  commissary,  "  have 
the  goodness  to  remain  here  in  charge,  and  you,  sub- 
inspector,  come  with  me.  M.  Saintonge,  you  can  stay 
here;  I  want  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  presently."  With 
these  words  the  magistrate  left  the  room,  and  as  soon  as 
he  was  a  few  steps  from  the  door,  he  turned  to  the  sub- 
inspector,  and  said:  "  What  do  you  think  of  all  this  ?  I 
confess  that  I  don't  see  my  way,  and  before  going  any 
further  I  should  like  to  hear  your  opinion." 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  poUce  official,  "  my  opinion  is  ali'eady 
formed.  The  convict  Trouillard  has  spoken  the  truth;  it 
was  Mahossier  who  murdered  the  bank  messenger,  and 
he  himself  was  killed  a  day  or  two  ago  by  the  prisoner 
who  was  discharged  from  Mazas  about  a  month  back." 

"  A  man  whose  name  and  description  we  do  not  know." 

"  But  we  shall  have  both  this  evening,  for  I  will  go 
myself  to  the  registry  office  of  Mazas  prison." 

"  We  sha'n't  catch  him  though,  for  he  has  had  plenty 
of  time  to  get  out  of  the  country  with  his  money." 

"  He  did  not  take  it  all,  and  mv  opinion  is  that  he  has 
remained  in  Paris,  with  tne  nope  oi   securing  the  r>- 


THE  felon's  bequest.  217 

mainder,  in  whicli  case  he  will  certainly  return  here,  and 
if  we  leave  some  men  on  the  watch  we  shall  trap  him." 

"  I  have  not  much  confidence  in  our  doing  so.  In  this 
wretched  affair,  it  is  all  groping  in  the  dark,  and  our 
clues  are  very  sHght.  I  do  not  even  know  to  whom  this 
sum  of  money  belongs  that  we  have  just  discovered." 

"  To  the  creditors  of  the  banker  who  was  robbed,  and 
after  they  have  been  paid,  to  his  heirs,  if  he  has  left  any, 
a  fact  of  which  I  am  at  present  in  ignorance." 

"  The  house  and  grounds,  they  tell  me,  once  belonged 
to  him.  It  seems  a  strange  thing  that  the  robbers  should 
have  chosen  it  for  a  hiding-place  for  their  plunder." 

"  Oh  !  but  the  place  had  been  deserted  for  some  years 
before  the  robbery  was  committed,  as  Trouillai'd  has  just 
told  us.  The  bank  messenger  who  planned  the  robbery 
knew  well  enough  that  no  one  ever  came  near  the  place, 
and  that  consequently  it  would  form  a  safer  hiding-place 
than  they  could  find  elsewhere." 

"  Well,  what  we  now  have  to  do  is  to  question  the  pres- 
ent proprietor  of  the  property.  "Who  knows  if  he  did 
not  know  of  the  existence  of  the  treasure,  and  he  may 
even  have  endeavored  to  secure  it  for  himself  ?  At  any 
rate,  he  may  be  able  to  furnish  us  with  information 
regarding  many  points,  and  I  wish  you  to  be  present 
when  I  question  him." 

"  He  is  a  most  respectable  business  man,  and  I  do  not 
think  that  you  will  fiiid  that  he  is  implicated  in  the  affair, 
but  here  he  is." 

Escorted  by  one  of  the  police  who  had  been  sent  in 
search  of  him,  Lourdier  appeared  at  the  other  end  of  the 
walk.  He  seemed  rather  nervous,  although  he  had 
nothing  to  reproach  himself  with,  and  came  up  to  the 
magistrate,  removing  his  hat  as  he  did  so. 

"  You  are  M.  Moras,  a  cloth  merchant,  are  you  not  ?  " 
asked  the  magistrate. 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  the  advertising  agent.  "  M.  Moras 
is  ill,  and  has  sent  me  in  his  place." 

"  But  no  one  can  take  his  place,  and  I  am  surprised 
that  M.  Moras  should  think  so.  "When  a  regular  notice 
has  been  served,  a  personal  attendance  is  absolutely 
necessary." 

"  M.  Moras  knows  that,  sir,  but  he  is  in  bed,  and  if  you 
desiro  to  interrogate  him,  h«  is  entirely  at  your  disposal 


218  THE  felon's  bequest. 

But  if,  in  the  meantime,  you  require  any  information 
about  this  property,  I  can  give  it  you,  for  I  know  more 
about  it  than  the  owner,  who  has  never  occupied  it." 

"  Will  you  then  answer  the  questions  that  I  put  to  you  ? 
"When  and  from  whom  did  he  buy  it  ?" 

"  He  did  not  buy  it,  sir.  He  got  the  property  at  the 
liquidation  of  a  banker  who  owed  him  money,  nearly 
seven  years  ago." 

"  A  banker  in  the  Faubourg  Poissoniere  ?" 

"Just  so;  the  banker  had  been  robbed.  At  that  time 
the  affair  created  a  great  sensation,  but  the  lost  property 
was  never  recovered." 

"  You  are  wrong.     It  has  been  found." 

"  Indeed !  and  where  ?    Not  here  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  and  one  of  the  robbers  has  been  arrested. 
One  of  them  was  murdered  in  this  garden  a  few  days 
back." 

"  I  heard  that  a  man  had  been  killed  here,  but  I  never 
connected  him  with  the  former  robbery  of  the  banker,  any 
more  than  I  thought  that  the  money  was  hidden  away  in 
M.  Moras'  property.    If  I  had  known  that " 

"  What  would  you  have  done  ?"  asked  the  magistrate, 
quickly. 

Lourdier  already  regretted  having  spoken  too  quickly, 
but  he  could  not  withdraw  his  words,  so  he  answered  in 
an  embarrassed  manner:  "Why,  of  coui'se,  I  should  not 
have  sold  it  then." 

"  Sold  it !"  repeated  the  magistrate.  "  What  right  had 
you  to  sell  it  ?" 

"  M.  Moras  gave  me  fuU  authority  to  do  so,  as  he  was 
anxious  to  get  rid  of  it,  and  at  last  I  managed  to  find  a 
purchaser.  The  deed  of  sale  was  drawn  up  by  M.  Guerin, 
a  notary  in  the  Place  Dancoiu't,  Montmartre." 

"  How  long  ago  ?" 

"  Quite  recently.  I  think  the  business  was  completed 
upon  the  very  day  on  which  the  body  of  the  man  who  had 
been  murdered  was  found." 

"Who  bought  it?" 

"A  most  respectable  gentleman,  very  wealthy,  who 
bought  the  house  and  ground  in  one  lot." 

"  A  strange  idea,  was  it  not,  to  buy  an  tminhabitable 
house,  and  a  bit  of  ground  that  brought  in  nothing  ?" 


THE  felon's  bequest.  219 

"  Oh !  be  got  it  cheap,  though  I  had  a  good  deal  of 
difficulty  in  persuading  him  to  buy." 

"  But  what  could  he  want  with  a  spot  like  this,  that  is 
of  no  marketable  value  ?" 

"  To  have  a  country  house  in  the  middle  of  Paris. 
That  could  easily  have  been  done  by  pulling  down  the 
old  house,  and  re-modeUing  the  garden  entirely.  In  fact, 
he  did  not  make  a  bad  investment." 

"  He  would  have  made  a  still  better  one  if  he  had  got 
hold  of  the  stolen  millions,  and  perhaps  this  was  his  idea 
all  along." 

"  Eh !  what  ?  I  never  thought  of  that,"  muttered  Lour- 
dier,-"  If  that  was  his  idea  he  was  more  shrewd  than  I  gave 
him  credit  for." 

"  What  was  the  name  of  the  purchaser  ?  " 

"  Cransac — George  Cransac. " 

The  name  was  not  familiar  to  the  magistrate,  who,  having 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  charge  of  uttering  the  forged 
check,  had  never  even  heard  it.  The  sub-inspector  had, 
of  course,  heard  of  the  case,  but  he  saw  so  many  prison- 
ers from  one  year's  end  to  another,  that  his  memory  could 
mot  retain  all  their  names. 

"  You  knew  the  gentlemen  with  whom  you  did  business 
before,  I  presume  ?  "  asked  the  magistrate. 

"  I  did  not,  nor  have  I  known  him  long,"  returned 
Lourdier.  "  It  was  sufficient  for  me  that  he  was  solvent, 
and  as  I  knew  that  he  was  so,  1  did  not  make  any  inquiries 
about  him,  and  so  can  tell  you  nothing  on  that  head." 

Lourdier  began  to  think  that  the  magistrate  suspected 
Cransac  of  some  misdemeanor  or  other,  and  he  wished  to 
avoid  compromising  a  friend  of  Valbrec's,  who  was  the 
editor  of  an  influential  paper,  with  the  advertising  depart- 
ment of  which  he  had  a  great  deal  to  do.  He  therefore 
took  care  to  say  nothing  about  George's  misadventure 
regarding  the  check,  and  endeavored  to  say  nothing 
against  a  friend,  with  whom  his  relations  had  always  been 
of  the  most  pleasant  description. 

"You  tell  me  that  this  young  man  is  wealthy,"  contin- 
ued the  magistrate.     "  What  does  he  do  ?  " 

"I  dont  think  he  does  anj^thing;  his  means  permit  him 
to  be  idle.  He  had  some  idea  of  writing  articles  in  the 
paper  to  which  I  belong,  but  it  was  only  an  idea." 

"  You  are  a  journalist  then  ?  " 


220  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"Not  exactly;  I  have  charge  of  the  publicity  depart- 
ment." 

"  In  other  words,  you  are  an  advertising  agent  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  but  lam  acquainted  with  nearly  all  the 
journalists  in  Paris.  It  was  through  one  of  them,  indeed, 
that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  first  meeting  M.  Cransac." 

"  Who  was  this  gentleman,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"  Paul  Valbrec." 

"  A  writer  that  I  always  read  with  much  pleasure.  No 
doubt,  then,  he  would  be  able  to  tell  me  all  about  M. 
Cransac  ?  " 

"  Much  better  than  I  can,  for  I  have  not  seen  him  since 
the  conclusion  of  the  sale  of  M.  Moras'  property." 

"I  will  request  him  to  call  upon  me  at  my  office,  and 
question  him  there.  M.  Saintonge  belongs  to  the  staff  of 
M.  Valbrec's  pajDer — do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Saintonge,  the  king  of  reporters !  I  should  think  I  do 
know  him.  If  you  put  him  on  this  business  he  would  give 
you  a  wonderful  account  of  it,  and  make  a  good  thing  for 
himself  out  of  it  too.  There  is  not  his  equal  in  making 
the  most  of  an  incident." 

"And  he  has  another  excellent  quality,  that  of  never 
being  indiscreet,  and  so  hindering  the  course  of  a  judicial 
inquiry;  and  it  would  be  well  if  all  his  brethren  of  the 
press  were  equally  reserved." 

Lourdier  took  this  as  a  hint,  and  protested  that  he  would 
not  whisper  a  word  of  what  had  passed  to  anyone,  though 
he  resolved  to  go  and  see  Valbrec  the  moment  the  magis- 
trate had  finished  with  him. 

"  Where  does  Cransac  reside  ?  "  asked  the  sub-inspector, 
who  thought  he  might  as  well  know  where  he  could  lay 
hands  upon  the  suspicious  purchaser  of  the  property. 

"  At  the  Grand  Hotel,  I  believe,"  answered  the  wary 
Lourdier.  He  knew  very  well  that  Cransac's  real  abode 
was  at  19,  Rue  Frochot;  but  he  did  not  wish  to  mention 
this  until  he  had  consulted  Yalbrec,  whose  good  opinion 
he  desired  to  retain. 

Lourdier  thought  to  himself:  "I  am  not  telling  a  false- 
hood, since  a  week  ago  Cransac  had  still  his  rooms  at  the 
Grand  Hotel;  and  if  his  conscience  is  not  quite  clear,  he 
will  have  time  to  slope,  after  Valbrec  has  warned  him  that 
he  is  suspected  of  one  or  two  gross  misdemeanors." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  221 

"  If  he  is  so  wealthy,  why  does  he  reside  at  an  hotel  ?  " 
asked  the  keen  sub-inspector. 

"  He  is  only  staying  there  as  a  temporary  measure  until 
his  viUa  is  ready  for  him,  which  it  will  be  next  summer; 
but  after  all,  I  can  only  tell  you  what  he  has  told  me. 
My  relations  with  him  have  been  of  the  sligh est  kind,  and 
I  met  him  by  a  mere  chance,  at  a  dinner  that  Paul  Valbrec 
gave  to  some  of  his  friends. 

All  that  Lourdir  wanted  was  to  be  able  to  give  Cransac 
the  chance  of  seeking  safety  in  flight  if  he  had  anything 
to  fear  from  the  police,  but  he  chiefly  desired  not  to  com- 
promise himself,  and  to  prove  that  he  was  not  at  all  inti- 
mate with  a  man  who  seemed  just  now  an  object  of  sus- 
picion, after  having  already  spent  a  short  time  within  the 
walls  of  Mazas. 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  magistrate.  "  If  I  require 
your  presence  again  I  shall  send  for  you,  but  at  present 
I  have  no  more  need  of  you,  and  you  may  retire." 

The  advertisement  contractor  did  not  wait  for  a  second 
notice  of  dismissal;  he  bowed  to  the  magistrate  and  to  the 
sub-inspector,  and,  turning  round,  made  off  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Rue  Gabrielle,  delighted  at  having  got  off  so 
easily,  and  firmly  resolved  to  hasten  off  to  Valbrec,  whose 
residence  was  near  the  Hill  of  Montmartre,  and  whom  he 
was  pretty  certain  to  find  in  bed,  for,  as  he  worked  until 
an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  he  seldom  rose  before  mid- 
day. 

As  soon  as  the  magistrate  and  the  sub-inspector  were 
left  alone  together  they  exchanged  a  look  of  satisfaction, 
showing  tliat  the  same  thought  was  passing  through  both 
their  mi»ds.  Lourdier's  examination  had  elicited  notbing 
definite,  and  the  information  with  which  he  had  furnished 
them  regarding  the  new  owner  of  the  property  had  not 
in  any  way  cleared  up  the  aspect  of  affairs.  The  magis- 
trate, however,  appeared  to  think  that  this  M.  Cransac 
had  bought  the  land  without  any  particular  motive,  just 
as  he  would  have  bought  any  other  site  that  might  Lave 
been  presented  to  bis  notice  which  had  tbe  advantage  of 
a  fine  view  and  was  in  an  airy  situation.  He  mentioned 
his  opinion  to  the  sub-inspector,  who  was  not  so  com- 
pletely convinced,  and  who  detei-mined  without  further 
loss  of  time  to  make  some  inquiry  into  the  young  man's 
past  life,  and  also  as  to  the  origin  of  his  fortune.  "  I  will  have 


222  THE  felon's  bequest. 

him  watched  at  once,"  continued  the  wary  police  official^  And 
I  will  inspect  the  register  of  the  Mazas  prison.  If  I  find  his 
name  on  the  list,  we  need  search  no  further;  for  nothing 
will  then  remain  in  doubt.  We  shall  then  have  to  act 
without  a  moment's  delay;  for  if  he  is  guilty,  and  by  any 
chance  learns  what  has  taken  place  here  to-day,  he  will 
be  off  by  the  first  train." 

"  It  would,  perhaps,  have  been  wiser  to  have  detained 
that  advertising  agent,  who  appears  to  be  quite  capable 
of  warning  our  man,"  remarked  the  magistrate. 

"  My  fellows  will  be  at  the  Grand  Hotel  before  him, 
and  if  you  have  no  further  need  of  me,  I  will  ask  you  to 
permit  me  to  leave  you  now,  so  that  I  may  go  to  Mazaa 
and  make  inquiries." 

"  You  are  right,  for  it  is  most  urgent." 

"My  sergeant,  Pigache,  can  easily  superintend  the 
removal  of  the  treasure." 

"Very  well;  I  see  the  doctor  coming  for  the  medical 
examination,  so  go.  I  shall  expect  you  at  twelve  o'clock 
at  my  office  with  your  report,  and  then  I  will  decide  what 
course  I  shall  take." 

"  I  shall  also  ask  at  the  office  of  the  Assize  Court  for  the 
report  of  the  sitting  of  the  Court  at  which  Mahossier  was 
sentenced.  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  know  the  exact 
amount  of  the  sum  that  was  stolen  from  the  banker,  seven 
years  ago,  so  as  to  remit  the  surplus,  after  paying  his  credi- 
tors, to  his  heirs,  if  he  has  left  any. 

"  All  has  been  done  so  quickly  that  I  have  not  had  time 
to  look  through  the  papers  relating  to  the  robbery." 

"  Nor  do  I  know  anything  of  it;  for  at  that  date  I  was 
not  in  the  detective  department.  And  now,  sir,  since  you 
think  that  you  can  dispense  with  my  presence,  I  will  give 
Pigache  his  instructions,  and  set  to  work  at  once." 

The  magistrate  did  not  seek  to  detain  his  auxiliary, 
and  went  off  to  speak  to  the  doctor,  who  he  had  not 
expected  would  arrive  so  soon.  Just  then  Saintonge  left 
the  house  where  all  operations  had  been  suspended  dur- 
ing the  absence  of  the  magistrate,  and  begged  him  to 
permit  him  to  leave  the  place.  He  received  the  requisite 
permission,  coupled  with  this  piece  of  well-meant  and 
fatherly  advice :  "  You  may  relate  in  your  paper  all  that 
you  have  seen  here,  do  you  understand?  but  not  a 
syllable  more;  for  if  you  indulge  in  any  comments  or 


THE  felon's  bequest.  223 

•uppositions,  I  shall  be  unable  for  the  future  to  permit 
your  presence  in  the  event  of  this  matter  requiring  fresh 
search  to  be  made 'in  the  garden." 

Saintonge  promised  to  attend  scrupulously  to  this 
advice,  and  took  his  leave,  delighted  at  having  employed 
his  morning  so  well.  He  was  desirous  of  conveying  to 
the  editor  the  success  of  his  mission,  and  he  had  no  idea 
that  the  day  which  had  now  begun  was  to  decide  the 
fate  of  that  George  Cransac  whom  he  had  met  in  the 
office  of  Paul  Valbrec. 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

HUNTED    DOWN. 

The  Httle  suite  of  rooms  in  the  Rue  Frochot  had  under- 
gone a  complete  change. 

The  nest  of  the  two  fond  lovers  had  been  turned  into  a 
hospital. 

The  insensible  figure  of  Cecile  Cambremer  had  been 
brought  there  on  a  litter  between  ten  and  eleven 
o'clock. 

The  doctor  and  George  Cransac  had  passed  the 
remainder  of  the  night  watching  by  her  bedside,  and 
after  having  again  examined  her  wounds,  which  he  had 
been  unable  to  do  before  in  a  satisfactory  manner  in  the 
dark  passage  leading  to  the  stage-door,  the  doctor  had 
revoked  his  former  sentence. 

He  now  hoped  to  be  able  to  save  his  patient  without 
having  recourse  to  amputation. 

The  animal's  claws  had  not  penetrated  so  deeply  as  he 
had  at  first  imagined  into  the  breast  and  shoulder,  and 
the  lung  was  fortunately  untouched.  The  bone  of  the 
arm  was  certainly  broken  in  two  places,  but  it  was  not 
so  terribly  splintered  as  he  had  feared  it  was,  and  simple 
fractures  are  easily  cured,  unless  some  unforeseen  com- 
plication arises.  Cecile  had  endured  with  the  greatest 
courage  the  painful  operation  of  extracting  two  or  three 
splinters  of  the  bone  from  her  flesh,  and  the  first  dressing 
had  been  applied.  Josephine  Sureau,  who  had  been  sent 
for  with  the  first  dawn  of  day,  had  arrived,  and  looked 
9,fter  the  patient  much  better  than  George  could  hav$ 


224        THE  felon's  bequest. 

done;  for  on  occasions  of  this  kind  a  man  is  of  but  little 
use,  and  Josephine,  like  all  those  who  have  suffered 
much  themselves  and  seen  much  suffering  in  others,  -was 
a  most  excellent  sick  nurse.  Instead  of  bursting  into  a 
flood  of  lamentations  at  the  state  in  which  she  found  her 
benefactress,  and  instead  of  loudly  inquiring  the  cause  of 
her  being  so  seriously  injured,  she  at  once  placed  herself 
under  George's  orders,  without  making  a  single  re- 
mark. 

George  reproached  himself  bitterly  with  having  been 
the  involuntary  cause  of  her  accident;  first,  in  having  taken 
her  to  the  theatre,  and  secondl}',  in  having  let  her  pene- 
trate behind  the  scenes.  All  seemed  the  result  of  a 
piece  of  inconceivable  forgetfulness  on  his  part.  The 
fact  that  Cornehan  was  going  to  make  her  first  appear- 
ance on  the  boards  of  the  Theatre  of  the  Porte  Saint 
Martin  had  entirely  escaped  from  his  memory,  and,  with 
his  mind  filled  with  plans  for  vengeance  on  Simancas, 
he  had  permitted  Valbrec  to  take  Cecile  behind  the 
scenes.  All  that  had  happened  afterwards  seemed 
planned  by  the  hand  of  Fate;  and  he  did  not  for  a  mo- 
ment doubt  that  the  villainous  Goliath  had  thrust  Cecile 
against  the  cage  on  purpose  to  gratify  the  jealous  hatred 
of  Cornelian. 

Had  Cecile  guessed  the  truth  ?  George  had  reason  to 
hope  that  she  had  not,  for  since  she  had  regained  con- 
sciousness she  had  not  said  a  word  about  the  Queen  of 
the  Lions  or  their  keeper,  and  George  took  care  to  make 
no  allusion  to  them.  He  now  left  her  bedside  whilst 
Josephine  moved  noiselessly  here  and  there,  preparing 
and  applpng  the  cold  water  bandage  which  the  doctor 
had  ordered  to  be  kept  constantly  on  the  wounds.  The 
doctor  himself  was  to  return  in  the  afternoon  with  one 
of  the  most  skillful  surgeons  of  the  day,  who  was  to  pro- 
nounce the  verdict  as  to  whether  amputation  was  neces- 
sary or  not. 

The  poor  wounded  girl  had  displayed  invincible 
energy,  and  a  clearness  of  intellect  which  was  surprising 
under  the  circumstances.  She  strove  to  comfort  George, 
who  could  not  conceal  the  anguish  he  was  enduring  on 
her  accoxint,  and  she  even  endeavored  to  joke  about  her 
accident;  once  she  said  almost  merrily:  "It  served  me 
right,   I  was  too   curious.     I  have  that  fault;  I  had  it 


THE  felon's  bequest.  225 

from  my  childhood.  My  poor  father  always  predicted 
that  I  should  be  punished  for  it,  and  so  I  have  been,  but 
perhaps  a  httle  too  severely.  And  jet  it  might  have 
been  worse.  At  one  time  I  thought  the  terrible  monster 
was  going  to  strangle  me.  Then,  George,  all  my 
thoughts  fled  to  you,  and  I  fainted.  ¥ou,  I  am  sure, 
must  have  suffered  more  than  I  did,  and  do  not  think 
that  I  am  referring  to  the  wound  you  received  in  trying 
to  save  me,  but  the  pangs  of  your  heart." 

"My  wound  is  a  mere  nothing,"  answered  George, 
casting  a  glance  at  his  right  hand,  which  was  swathed  in 
bandages;  "but  had  you  died,  I  would  not  have  sur- 
vived you." 

"Do  not  say  that;  it  makes  me  so  wretched.  Re- 
member that  I  may  die  after  all,  but  swear  to  me  that 
should  I  do  so  you  will  have  the  courage  to  live." 

"You  shall  not  die;  the  doctor  said  you  would  not." 

"  He  may  be  wrong,  and  I  had  rather  do  so  than  let 
them  cut  off  my  arm.  If  I  had  but  one,  you  would  love 
me  no  longer." 

"  Do  not  say  so." 

"  No,  you  would  not  love  me  as  you  have  done;  and  if 
you  did  not  I  should  kill  myself.  Ah  !  do  not  contradict 
me.  I  hope  that  I  shall  save  my  arm,  and  that  your 
heart  will  not  change,  but  so  many  things  may  happen 
that  we  must  look  forward  to  everything;  and  if  I  am  to 
die,  before  leaving  this  world  I  should  like,  oh  I  how 
much  I  should  Uke " 

"  To  do  what  ?  "  asked  George,  deeply  moved. 

"  You  will  laugh  at  me.    I  should  like " 

"  Tell  me  what;  you  terrify  me." 

"  To  make  my  will." 

"  That  is  madness." 

"  It  is  not  madness.  It  is  an  idea  that  has  been  in  my 
mind  ever  since  I  knew  you.  I  wish  to  make  you  my 
heir."  Then,  as  her  lover  made  a  gesture  of  refusal,  she 
continued :  "  I  can  guess  what  you  are  about  to  say,  that 
you  are  rich,  and  that  I  have  nothing.  You  forget,  dear 
friend,  that,  thanks  to  you,  I  am  at  the  head  of  a  prosper- 
ous business,  and  also  that  I  owe  you  a  thousand  francs." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  that,"  murmured  George,  deeply 
hurt  at  the  thought  of  her  looking  upon  him  in  the  light 
of  a  creditor. 


226  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  Do  not  be  vexed,  my  dear  George,  but  remember 
that  I  only  took  this  money  from  you  on  the  condition 
that  I  should  be  permitted  to  return  it,  and  if  I  live  you 
will  permit  me  to  pay  ofO  the  loan  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but " 

"Ah  !  you  make  me  very  sad;  you  must  allow  me  to  do 
as  I  wish.  I  shall  injure  no  one,  for  I  have  not  a  single 
relation  in  the  world.  Promise  me,  then,  that  you  wUl 
accept  the  legacy." 

"  Very  well,  I  promise  if  you  persist  in  this  strange 
fancy;  but  before  doing  so,  you  must  take  time  to  reflect." 

"  I  have  reflected,  and  it  must  be  done  at  once." 

"  "What  I  you  desire " 

"  Yes,  I  wish  to  make  my  will  before  the  doctors  meet 
in  consultation  here,  which  will  be  very  soon,  and  I  want 
to  take  advantage  of  the  time  that  we  are  alone  together, 
whilst  that  good  Josephine  is  preparing  the  broth  that 
the  doctor  ordered  me  to  take.  Do  not  say  that  it  is 
impossible.  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  know  that  we 
can  dispense  with  the  assistance  of  a  notary,  and  that  a 
will  is  legal  if  it  is  properly  dated  and  signed,  and  written 
entirely  by  myself." 

"What  a  strange  whim  !" 

"  I  entreat  you  to  yield  to  it." 

George  thought  that  it  would  be  unwise  to  run  counter 
to  CecDe's  wishes  in  her  present  state  of  health,  and 
therefore  would  not  deny  her  a  pleasure  which  was  per- 
fectly harmless.  Shrugging  his  shoulders,  he  took  a 
blotting  book  from  the  table,  placed  a  sheet  of  paper  on 
it,  and  setting  it  before  the  injured  girl,  put  a  pen  ready 
dipped  in  ink  between  her  fingers,  who  wrote  her  last 
wishes  in  two  lines: 

"  I  make  George  Cransac,  who  has  twice  saved  my  life, 
my  sole  heir  and  executor." 

She  put  in  the  date,  and  signed  Cecile  Cambremer  in 
affirm  hand.  "  Now  my  mind  is  more  easy,"  said  she,  as 
she  gave  him  back  the  document. 

George  was  obliged  to  take  it,  but  he  put  it  down  on 
the  table  without  looking  at  it. 

"Put  it  carefully  away,  I  entreat  you,"  said  she,  gently. 
"  I  want  to  make  sure  that  it  is  quite  safe.  Lock  it  up 
in  the  strong  box,  where  you  keep  your  money." 

To  satisfy  her,  Cransac  opened  the  box,  and,  taking  out 


THE  felon's  bequest.  227 

the  pocket-book  he  had  brought  from  the  deserted  house, 
was  about  to  put  the  will  in  it,  when  a  bell  rang  loudly 
outside.  Cransac  started,  and  remained  standing  per- 
fectly stiU,  with  the  paper  in  his  hand  which  Cecile  had 
just  written  and  signed,  and  to  which  he  attached  no 
importance.  He  could  not  comprehend  the  sudden  feel- 
ing that  had  induced  the  poor  girl  to  persist  so  strenu- 
ously in  her  design,  and  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  put  away 
the  document  securely,  in  the  damp  pocket-book  which 
he  had  just  taken  out  of  his  strong  box.  He  had  not 
even  noticed  that  Cecile's  eyes  had  never  quitted  the 
pocket-book  from  the  moment  she  had  first  caught  sight 
of  it,  and  they  still  remained  fixed  on  it  when  he  placed 
it  on  the  table.  Why  did  she  look  on  it  with  such  eager- 
ness ?  No  doubt  she  would  have  told  George  the  reason 
when  Josephine  came  hastily  into  the  room  and 
announced: 

"M.  Paul  Valbrec." 

Without  taking  the  time  to  put  away  the  pocket  book 
or  the  will,  George  advanced  to  greet  this  faithful  friend, 
who  had  followed  the  litter  upon  which  lay  the  inanimate 
body  of  Cecile  the  night  before. 

Valbrec  appeared  to  be  in  deep  thought,  and  after  ask- 
ing Cecile  how  she  was,  turned  abruptly  to  George,  and 
said:  "  I  have  just  seen  Saintonge." 

"  Saintonge  ?  "  repeated  George,  who  had  forgotten  the 
name  of  the  reporter. 

"  Yes,  Saintonge  who  you  met  at  our  office  yesterday. 
Do  you  know  what  has  been  going  on  to-day  in  the  house 
you  bought  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  stammered  George,  greatly 
agitated. 

"  They  have  found  a  hidden  treasure  amounting  to  two 
millions,  and  the  dead  body  of  a  man." 

"A  dead  body?" 

"Exactly  so;  and  they  have  captured  an  escaped  con- 
vict." 

"  Well,  what  has  all  that  to  do  with  me  ?  "  asked  George, 
affecting  an  air  of  indifference. 

"  That  is  not  all,"  continued  Vp^lbrec,  coldly.  "  I  have 
seen  Lourdier." 

"Well." 


228  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"  He  came  and  woke  me  up  with  the  news  that  you 
were  going  to  be  examined  before  a  magistrate." 

"  I ! " 

"Yes,  you;  Lourdier  was '  compelled  to  tell  the  magis- 
trate that  he  had  sold  you  the  property  on  the  Hill  of 
Montmartre,  and  he  saw  at  once  that  it  Avas  suspected  that 
you  had  bought  it  because  you  knew  that  there  was  an 
immense  sum  of  money  hidden  there;  a  sum  of  money 
which  had  been  stolen  from  a  banker  seven  years  ago,  aa 
you  know.  Saintonge  spoke  of  the  matter  yesterdaj' 
before  you." 

"  Yes,  I  recoUect,  but " 

"  You  are  about  to  say  that  this  has  nothing  to  do  with 
you ;  but  for  all  that,  the  police  authorities  are  on  tho 
lookout  for  you,  and  you  would  have  already  have  beer/ 
found  had  not  Lourdier  had  the  sense  to  tell  them  thali 
you  were  staying  at  the  Grand  Hotel;  but  for  all  that,  it 
wiU  not  be  long  before  they  know  your  true  address.  1 
also  expect  to  be  summoned  to  give  evidence  regarding 
your  antecedents,  and,"  concluded  Valbrec,  looking  hisi 
friend  straight  in  the  face,  "  I  thought  it  best  to  warn 
you  of  what  was  going  on,  because — well,  because  if  you 
felt  it  necessary  you  might  get  out  of  the  way." 

George,  who  began  to  lose  his  self-command,  com- 
menced to  equivocate.  "  Do  they  accuse  me  of  having 
robbed  a  banker  seven  years  ago  ?  Why,  they  must  be 
jesting  1     I  had  hardly  left  school  then." 

"  Certainly,  but  it  is  best  for  you  to  know  all.  I  am 
teUing  you  what  they  said  to  Lourdier,  and  he  knew  no 
more,  but  Saintonge  heard  something  besides.  He  was 
present  when  the  convict  who  had  been  captured  there 
was  examined,  and  the  man  asserted  that  when  he  was  at 
Mazas,  before  his  trial,  about  the  end  of  November,  he 
had  thrown  over  the  wall  of  the  exercise-ground,  to 
another  prisoner,  a  note,  in  which  was  pointed  out  the 
hiding-place  of  a  sum  of  money  which  he  had  stolen  some 
time  before,  nearly  two  mjUions — a  good  round  sum,  eh  ? 
The  convict  was  not  able  to  tell  either  the  name  or  the 
appearance  of  the  prisouer  to  whom  he  had  thrown  the 
note,  but  the  prison  register  contains  the  names  and  des- 
cription of  all  those  who  have  been  confined  there,  and 
the  authorities  are  going  to  consult  it;  perhaps  this  has 
been  done  already." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  229 

Cransac's  legs  trembled  beneatli  him,  and  Lis  pallor 
was  evidence  of  his  conscious  guilt.  "  Now  you  know 
all,"  continued  Valbrec,  coldly.  "  It  is  for  you  to  con- 
sider the  best  way  of  acting.  Tou  were  a  prisoner  in 
Mazas  at  the  end  of  November,  but  of  course  that  does 
not  prove  that  the  convict  made  you  his  confidant.  You 
bought  a  house  and  ground  at  Montmartre,  but  that  is 
only  presumptive  evidence  against  you.  I  have  done  all 
I  can  in  telling  you  how  matters  stand.  Now  examine 
your  own  conscience.  If  you  have  nothing  to  reproach 
yourself  with,  fight  tooth  and  nail,  but  if  it  is  the  other 
way,  I  have  no  advice  to  give  you." 

"  Because  you  do  not  like  to  advise  me  to  blow  out  my 
brains." 

"I  say  nothing;  and,  lest  anyone  should  say  that  I 
refused  to  give  you  a  last  piece  of  advice,  I  recommend 
you  to  put  that  pocket  book  out  of  the  way,  for  one  is 
missing  from  the  hiding-place  in  which  they  found  the 
rest  of  the  millions,  and  if  those  who  are  in  search  of  you 
should  come  here  now,  they  will  ask  you  where  you  got  it 
from." 

'*  The  pocket  book  is  mine,"  said  Cecile. 

Valbrec  had  forgotten  that  she  was  there;  he  turned 
quickly  round,  and  the  words,  "  It  is  false,"  were  on  his 
Hps,  but  he  pitied  her  and  remained  silent. 

"  Yes,"  continued  she,  with  a  boldness  that  took  him 
by  siuprise.  "  It  belongs  to  me  of  right,  and  I  can  prove 
it  to  you." 

"  It  is  not  to  me  that  you  will  have  to  prove  it." 

"  I  will  prove  it  to  anyone  who  ventures  to  accuse 
George,  and  if  you  wish  to  know  how  it  came  into  my 
possession,  ask  your  friend  where  it  was  that  he  first  met 
me. 

Valbrec  did  not  understand  what  she  meant,  but 
George  guessed  that  the  heroic  girl  was  accusing  herself 
in  order  to  save  him,  and  vowed  to  himself  that  he  would 
not  accept  such  a  sacrifice. 

"  Speak,"  continued  she.  "  Is  it  not  true  that  'you 
found  me  one  night  in  the  deserted  house  in  the  Rue 
Gabrielle,  into  which  you  had  gone  by  chance  ? "  But 
Cransac  had  not  the  time  to  reply  to  her  question,  for 
again  the  bell  rang  loudly.  A  treatise  might  be  written 
on  the  various  sounds  of  front  door  bells.     The  ring  of 


230  THE  felon's  bequest. 

the  man  who  asks  a  favor  is  different  from  that  of  a 
creditor,  and  that  of  a  commissary  of  police  resembles 
no  other  in  existence. 

"  The  deuce  I "  muttered  Valbrec  between  his  teeth, 
for  he  guessed  the  reason  of  the  sound.  "  I  have  come 
too  late,  or  else  too  soon." 

Voices  were  now  heard  in  the  ante-chamber. 

Cransac  made  a  step  toward  the  window,  but  he  had 
not  time  to  throw  it  open,  or  his  brains  would  have  been 
scattered  on  the  pavement. 

The  sub-inspector  of  detectives  entered,  followed  by 
two  subordinates,  and  said  in  a  harsh  voice :  "  Let  no  one 
stir.     Which  of  you  is  George  Cransac  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  answered  the  unfortunate  yovmg  man. 

"  And  you,  sir,  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Valbrec,  and  I  am " 

"  I  know  your  profession,  but  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  you  at  present;  but  stay  here,  I  may  have  to  talk  to 
you  presently."  Then  turning  to  Cecile,  he  asked  ?  "Are 
you  living  with  Cransac  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  injured  girl,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

The  woman  who  opened  the  door  to  us  is  in  your  em- 
ploy?" 

«  She  is." 

"  Don't  let  her  leave  the  house,"  said  the  sub-inspector 
to  his  two  men.  "  Remain  in  the  ante-room;  open  to  any- 
one who  rings,  and  ask  their  names,  which  you  will  report 
to  me." 

The  detectives  left  the  room,  and  closed  the  door, 
whilst  their  superior  officer  remained  in  the  room  with 
Cecile,  George  and  Valbrec. 

George  was  standing  near  the  window,  Valbrec  was 
leaning  against  the  table,  and  Cecile  was  propped  up  in 
bed  by  the  pillows.  The  detective  took  the  seat  which  no 
one  had  offered  to  him,  and  pointed  out  another  to  Val- 
brec, who  did  not  take  advantage  of  the  permission  to 
sit  down,  and  at  once  began  to  question  George. 
"I  have  a  warrant  against  you,  but  before  executing  it  I 
have  some  questions  to  put  to  you  regarding  certain  facts 
with  which  no  doubt  you  are  acquainted,  since  your  friend, 
M.  Valbrec,  reached  here  before  me.  He  learned  them 
from  a  reporter  connected  with  his  paper,  and  has  most 


THE  felon's  bequest.  231 

likely  repeated  them  to  you.  I  could  not  get  here  sooner, 
though  I  have  spent  all  the  morning  in  looking  for  you." 

"  I  have  not  hidden  myself,"  returned  George. 

"  That  may  be,  but  you  left  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  did 
not  say  where  you  were  going." 

"  All  my  friends  knew  where  I  lived,  and  that  I  was  only 
staying  at  the  Grand  Hotel  as  a  temporary  measure." 

"  I  know  that,  and  will  come  to  that  presently.  You 
know  what  you  are  accused  of." 

"I  am  waiting  to  know." 

"  You  are  accused  of  robbery  and  murder." 

"Nothing  more?" 

"  I  will  begin  at  the  commencement.  Last  November, 
you  were  arrested  and  confined  in  Mazas  on  suspicion  of 
forgery." 

"I  was;  but  my  innocence  was  established,  and  I  was 
released." 

"  Discharged  for  want  of  sufficient  evidence  to  convict; 
that  does  not  mean  that  you  were  not  guilty;  but  let  us 
proceed.  During  your  imprisonment  at  Mazas,  you 
received  a  note  from  one  of  the  other  prisoners,  who  threw 
it  to  you  over  the  wall  of  the  exercise-ground." 

George  remained  silent,  and  the  detective  continued: 
*'  The  man  who  wrote  it  has  been  arrested  and  has  con- 
fessed everything.  But  he  could  not  point  you  out,  because 
he  had  never  seen  you.  But  your  detention  at  Mazas 
coincides  with  the  time  that  he  was  there,  before  appear- 
ing before  the  Court  of  Assizes,  and  you  were  in  the  same 
part  of  the  prison  as  he  was." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  You  will  not  answer  ?  It  is  of  no  importance,  for  I 
have  no  need  of  your  confession,  as  I  have  plenty  of  proofs 
without  your  doing  so.  You  were  almost  penniless  when 
you  came  out,  but  all  at  once  your  position  underwent  a 
change.  You  were  absent  for  a  time,  and  your  absence 
has  not  yet  been  explained,  and  afterwards,  instead  of 
returning  home,  you  took  expensive  rooms  in  the  Grand 
Hotel.  You  played  heavily  and  paid  your  losses,  and 
went  into  other  extravagances.  The  broker  who  employed 
you  would  do  so  no  longer;  from  whence  then  did  you 
draw  your  money?  Evidently  from  the  hiding-place 
which  the  prisoner  had  pointed  out  to  you,  and  which 
you  did  not  empty  because  sufficient  time  was  not  per- 


232  THE  felon's  bequest. 

mitted  you  to  do  so;  but  to  be  able  to  do  so  more 
at  yoiu'  ease,  you  bought  the  house,  where  this  morning 
we  found — but  I  will  not  enter  into  details  with  which 
you  must  be  well  acquainted.  As  for  the  murder,  I 
shall  content  myself  by  saying  that  in  the  garden  of  the 
property  you  had  purchased  the  body  of  a  man  was 
picked  up,  who  had  been  killed  by  a  blow  on  the  head, 
and  this  man  was  one  of  them  who  took  part  in  the  rob- 
bery of  1877,  from  a  banker's  in  the  Faubourg  Pois- 
soniere,  the  proceeds  of  which  were  hidden  at  the  time 
in  the  house  for  which  you  paid  cash  some  three  weeks 
back.  It  is  most  natural  to  suppose  that  having  met 
Mahossier,  who  was  coming  to  the  house  with  the  same 
intention  as  yourself,  you  killed  him  sooner  than  divide 
the  plunder.  But  this  matter  will  be  inquired  into  later 
on,  at  present  we  are  only  dealing  with  the  robbery. 
You  took  away  a  great  deal  of  gold — we  know  the 
amount — and  three  hundred  and  fifty-six  thousand  francs 
in  banknotes.  "What  have  you  done  with  this  money  ? 
If  you  refuse  to  tell  me,  I  know  well  enough  where 
to  look  for  it,  and  shall  commence  by  searching  your 
rooms." 

"  The  search  won't  be  a  long  one,"  thought  Valbree; 
"  the  notes  are  in  that  pocket  book,  which  I  can  feel 
behind  me  on  the  table.  If  I  shift  my  position  it  will 
be  in  sight  before  the  policeman's  very  eyea  It 
is  too  stupid  of  Cransac;  he  had  better  confess  every- 
thing." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  233 

CHAPTEB   XXX. 
A    wohak's   deyotiok. 

Thb  silence  that  followed  the  conclusion  of  the  detec- 
tive's statement  was  broken  by  the  clear  voice  of  Cecile; 
"You  need  institute  no  search,  sir;  it  is  I  who  took  the 
money  that  is  deficient,  as  I  will  explain  to  you." 

The  detective  glanced  at  her  disdainfully.  "  Why  do 
you  interfere  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  have  permitted  you  to  re- 
main in  the  room  because  you  are  hurt,  so  the  porter 
told  me,  but  if  you  do  not  keep  quiet,  I  will  have  you 
taken  to  the  hospital." 

"  You  may  do  so,  but  you  cannot  prevent  my  telling 
the  truth.  I  repeat  that  I  discovered  the  hiding-place, 
and  took  the  money,  a  great  deal  of  the  money." 

"  Why  don't  you  say  at  once  while  you  are  about  it 
that  you  killed  Mahossier  too." 

"  Because  if  I  said  that  I  should  not  be  speaking  the 
truth.  I  do  not  know  who  killed  the  man,  but  I  know 
that  I  took  away  the  packets  of  gold  and  the  bank- 
notes." 

"  She  is  mad,"  muttered  Valbrec. 

"Good,"  said  the  sub-inspector;  "I  understand  it  all. 
You  want  to  make  me  believe  that  your  lover  is  as  inno- 
cent as  a  child,  and  that  you  did  it  all.  I  have  seldom 
seen  so  much  devotion,  but  unfortunately  your  little 
story  is  wanting  in  common  sense.  Suppose  I  admit 
that  you  were  Cransac's  accomplice,  doubtless  he  had  no 
secrets  from  you,  and  gave  you  his  entire  confidence, 
regarding  his  discovery  which  he  had  made  in  Mazas, 
which  is  not  a  prison  for  women.  Just  kindly  tell  me 
how  you  could  otherwise  have  guessed  that  there  was  a 
treasure  hidden  behind  a  plate  in  a  chimney  in  a  house 
in  which  you  had  probably  never  been  before  you  went 
there  with  the  accused." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir.  I  have  known  the  house  from 
my  childhood,  and  I  have  always  imagined  that  the  actors 
in  the  robbery  of  1877  had  hidden  the  stolen  money 
there.  I  sought  for  it  for  a  long  time,  and  at  last,  by 
chance,  I  hit  upon  the  right  spot." 


234        THE  felon's  bequest. 

"A  wonderful  chance  indeed;  but  even  if  we  suppose 
that  Cransac  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  you  told  him  of 
your  find,  I  suppose  ?" 

"I  did." 

"  Then  he  is  your  accomplice,  and  it  does  not  make  his 
position  a  bit  better;  he  has  helped  you  to  spend  the 
money  that  you  assert  you  took  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  employed  a  portion  of  it  in  paying  my  debts. 
I  had  a  manufactory  of  artificial  flowers,  which  was  not 
a  success." 

"  Oh,  I  daresay  you  have  not  spent  it  all  in  this  short 
time,  although  your  friend  certainly  eat  his  share  of  the 
cake.  You  don't  get  through  some  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  francs  in  six  weeks,  especially  when  you  live  on 
a  third  flooi',  and  keep  no  establishment.  But  you  were 
both  going  to  launch  out,  and  I  expect  would  soon  have 
Tun  through  it.     Where  is  what  is  left  ?" 

"  Here  in  this  room,  and  I  beg  that  you  will  take  it." 

"  Begin  then  by  giving  it  to  me,  if  you  want  me  to 
beUeve  in  all  these  fairy  tales  that  you  have  been  telling 
me  for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"  The  gold  is  in  that  strong  box,  which  is  open  over 
there,  and  the  notes  are  in  the  pocket-book  on^the  table 
behind  M.  Valbrec." 

The  detective  officer  rose  quickly  to  his  feet,  pushed 
aside  the  journalist  who  hid  the  object  from  him,  put  his 
hand  inside,  and  drew  out  a  thick  packet  of  bank-notes. 
"  They  are  still  wet,"  said  he,  feeling  them,  "  and  the 
leather  of  the  pocket-book  is  all  mildewed.  It  is  the 
same  one  that  was  stolen  in  1877,  for  the  banker's  initials 
are  still  legible  on  it,  the  same  that  were  on  the  buttons 
of  the  livery  of  the  bank  messenger,  whose  skeleton  we 
found  at  the  bottom  of  the  hiding-place." 

At  this  moment  the  four  actors  of  this  drama  formed 
what  is  called  in  theatrical  j^arlance  a  "tableau,"  The 
detective  was  handling  the  notes;  Valbrec  stupified  with 
astonishment;  Cransac  with  consternation;  Cecile  had 
raised  herself  up  in  her  bed,  and  was  gazing  on  the  scene 
with  large  black  eyes  which  gleamed  with  the  light  of 
fever. 

Valbrec  no  longer  doubted  her  madness,  and  Cransac, 
with  a  bitter  pang,  felt  that  she  was  rushing  onwards  to 
destruction  in  seeking  to  save  him,  and  was  preparing 


THE  felon's  bequest.  235 

to  contradict  her  self-accusations,  but  he  waited  to  do  so 
until  she  had  related  how  she  had  discovered  the  hiding- 
place.  The  detective  without  letting  go  the  pocket  book, 
went  straight  to  the  strong-box,  and  seeing  the  piles  of 
gold,  remarked  coldly;  "  That  is  right;  they  are  all 
wrapped  up  in  green  paper,  like  the  others,  and  evidently 
came  from  the  same  source." 

Then  turning  to  Cecile,  he  added:  "  If  you  really  took 
them,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  accused  did  not 
help  you,  for  no  woman  could  have  carried  these?" 

"  He  did  helj)  me,"  replied  Cecile,  boldly. 

"  Then  you  confess  that  he  is  as  giiilty  as  you  are  ?" 

"Guilty  of  what?" 

"  Of  vobbery,  to  be  sure.  Do  you  think,  by  any  chance, 
that  you  had  the  right  to  take  possession  of  this  money 
under  the  pretext  that  it  did  not  belong  to  anyone  ?  You 
are  too  clever  to  believe  anything  of  the  kind;  and  even 
had  you  believed  it,  you  would  have  been  guilty  of  a 
misdemeanor  all  the  same,  the  same  as  people  who  pick 
up  a  purse  in  the  public  streets  and  do  not  take  it  to  the 
police  office." 

"  No,  sir,  I  knew  perfectly  well  to  whom  the  two  mill- 
ions belonged,  for  I  am  better  acquainted  with  the  story 
than  you  are,  for  that  robbery  was  the  ruin  of  an  honest 
man  seven  years  ago." 

"  The  banker  of  the  Faubourg  Poissoniere  ?  "  sneered 
the  detective.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  propose 
to  give  him  back  those  two  millions  ?  " 

"  Not  to  him,  for  he  killed  himself,  being  unable  to  sur- 
vive the  dishonor  of  his  bankruptcy." 

"You  are  wonderfully  well  informed;  you  wish,  per- 
haps, to  hand  oyer  these  two  millions  amongst  his 
creditors  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  to  the  last  sous  that  is  owing;  but  fnat  does 
not  amount  to  two  millions." 

"  And  you  intended  to  keep  the  rest  as  a  recompense 
for  having  discovered  the  treasure.  This  is  really  too 
delightful,  only  I  think  that  you  had  better  not  teU  the 
magistrate  before  whom  you  will  have  to  appear,  this 
pretty  story." 

"  I  shall  content  myself  with  telling  him  that  I  am  M. 
Benedict  Cambremer's  heiress." 

"  This  is  getting  'better  and  better.     Certainly  these 


236  THE  felon's  bequest. 

were  tlie  names  of  tlie  banker  who  was  robbed — his 
initials  ai*e  still  legible  on  the  pocketbook  that  I  hold 
in  my  hand;  but  I  should  much  like  to  seethe  will  under 
whicli  you  inherit  his  fortune,  if  he  had  any  left  after  his 
bankruptcy." 

"  He  made  no  will;  why  should  he,  since  I  am  his  only 
child?" 

"  You !  bis  daughter — absurd  ! " 

"  My  certificate  of  birth  is  at  my  own  house,  22,  Avenue 
de  Laumiere,  and  also  of  my  mother  who  died  in  bring- 
ing me  into  the  world;  besides,  I  have  always  borne  my 
own  name.  In  my  own  part  of  the  town, where  I  have  Hved 
for  the  last  four  years,  before  I  met  M.  Cransac,  every 
one  knows  me  as  Cecile  Cambremer,  and  the  good 
woman  who  opened  the  door  to  you  will  tell  you  that 
she  knew  me  as  a  child  when  my  father  was  still 
alive." 

"  And  yet  it  is  only  just  now  that  you  speak  of  this 
father,  and  claim  your  inheritance." 

"  To  whom  should  I  have  spoken  of  it?  TVTien  mis- 
fortune overtook  him  his  friends  forsook  him,  and  his 
creditors  turned  me  out  of  house  and  home.  I  had  to 
gain  ray  living  by  the  toil  of  my  hands.  My  sole  desire 
was  to  be  forgotten,  and  in  this  I  succeeded,  as  you 
were  ignorant  even  that  I  existed." 

Her  replies  had  some  weight  with  the  detective,  but 
he  was  not  entirely  convinced  that  she  was  not  endeav- 
oring to  shield  her  lover,  for  after  a  short  pause  he  said: 
"  Your  assertions  shall  be  put  to  the  proof  to-day.  In 
the  meantime,  however,  30U  must  explain  to  me  how 
you  laid  hand  on  the  treasure  wLich  you  allege  belongs 
to  you.  Were  you  aware  that  it  was  hidden  at  Mont- 
martre  in  a  deserted  house?  " 

"No,  sir;  but  this  house  had  belonged  to  my  father, 
who  often  took  me  there  in  my  childhood.  It  recalled 
to  me  remembrances  which  were  very  dear  to  me,  and  I 
loved  to  gaze  upon  the  garden  in  which  I  had  spent 
my  childish  hours.  One  day  I  met  M.  Cransac 
there " 

"  What  was  he  doing  there  ? "  interrupted  the  de- 
tective, quickly ;  "  he  had  not  the  same  motives  as  you 
had,  to  come  and  wander  about  in  such  a  neglected 
spot." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  237 

"  He  had  come  out  of  mere  curiosity  to  prove  whether 
the  convict  had  spoken  the  truth  or  not." 

"  What !  he  told  you  on  the  very  first-  day  he  met  you 
that  he  had  just  been  released  from  Mazas  ?  " 

"  Not  on  tliat  day.  I  was  fairly  desperate,  and  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  die.  I  told  him.all  my  sorrows;  he 
consoled  me,  he  helped  me,  aided  me,  and  how  could  I 
help  loving  him  in  return  ?  Then,  some  little  time  after 
that,  I  spoke  to  him  of  the  robbery  of  which  my  father 
had  been  the  victim,  upon  which  he  showed  me  the  letter 
which  he  had  received  in  Mazas.  It  was  Hke  a  ray  of 
light  to  me.  I  entreated  him  to  take  me  to  the  ruined 
house,  and  he  had  not  the  courage  to  refuse  my  prayer. 
We  went  there  after  dark " 

"  When  ?  " 

"About  eight  days  ago.  George  had  never  given 
another  thought  of  the  hiding-place,  but  when  he  learnt 
that  the  money  concealed  in  it  had  Ijeen  stolen  from  my 
father  he  consented  to  go  there  with  me.  The  robber  had 
spoken  the  truth.  We  found  the  treasure;  and  the  initials 
on  the  pocket-book,  which  you  hold  in  your  hand,  proved 
that  the  gold  and  notes  belonged  to  my  father." 

"  That  was  no  reason  to  take  possession  of  them,  for 
you  know  that  your  father  had  left  many  creditors  behind 
him;  your  duty  was  to  have  given  notice  to  the  commis- 
sary of  police  of  the  district,  who  would  have  proceeded 
in  due  fonn.  The  money  would  have  been  paid  into  the 
Government  treasury,  and  your  claims  would  have  been 
inquired  into  later  on." 

"  That  is  what  George  advised  me  to  do,  and  I  alone  am 
responsible  for  the  removal  of  it.  I  have  spent  some 
thousands  of  francs  for  my  personal  wants,  but  I  am  sure 
that,  after  all  claims  against  my  father's  estate  have  been 
satisfied,  a  large  surplus  will  remain  at  my  disposal.  I 
had  decided  to  make  a  proper  declaration;  George, 
indeed,  had  reproached  me  for  delaying  it  so  long,  but  I 
did  not  know  the  proper  quarter  to  go  to;  and  yesterday, 
when  I  so  narrowly  escaped  death,  my  first  thought  was 
to  make  my  will,  and  there  it  is  on  that  table.  By  it  I 
have  instituted  M.  George  Cransac  my  residuary  legatee, 
not  only  because  he  saved  my  life,  but  because  he  would  do 
all  that  was  necessary  in  seeing  that  all  the  creditors  of  my 
father  were  paid,  and  that  he  would  report  the  existence 


238        THE  felon's  bequest. 

of  the  concealed  treasure  in  the  proper  quarter.  That, 
sir,  is  the  truth,  and  the  whole  truth,  and  M.  Cransac 
cannot  contradict  it." 

"  I  should  think  that  he  would  take  good  care  not  to  do 
so;  but  why  did  you  begin  by  telling  me  that  you  had 
discovered  the  money  by  chance  whilst  walking  about 
Montmartre  ?  " 

"  Because  I  did  not  wish  to  bring  in  the  name  of  a  man 
that  I  love  more  than  anyone  in  this  world.  Now  you 
know  all,  and  I  place  my  fate  in  your  hands.  Do  with 
me  as  you  will,  but  do  not  accuse  George  unjustly.  He 
has  nothing  on  earth  to  reproach  himself  with  except  in 
having  yielded  to  my  entreaties  instead  of  having  followed 
his  first  impulse.  Had  he  not  met  me  he  would  doubtless 
have  sought  for  the  treasure,  but  had  he  found  it  he 
would  have  reported  its  existence  on  the  spot — of  that  I 
am  quite  certaia." 

Without  making  any  reply  to  Cecile's  fervent  entreaties, 
the  sub-inspector  placed  the  pocket-book  in  the  strong 
box,  which  he  locked,  putting  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and 
then  took  from  the  table  the  paper  upon  which  the 
wounded  girl  had  inscribed  her  last  wishes.  "  Yes,"  said, 
he,  after  having  read  it  at  a  single  glance,  "  this  is  the 
will  which  you  were  so  strangely  prompted  to  write  just 
before  I  came  in,  and  which,  I  supj^ose,  you  left  on  the 
table  for  my  inspection." 

"  TVTien  I  wrote  it,"  answered  Cecile,  without  flinching, 
"  I  was  ignorant  that  you  were  coming  here." 

"  Oh !  you  knew  well  enough  that  I  should  be  here, 
for  M.  Valbrec,  who  got  in  here  in  front  of  me,  must 
have  certainly  informed  you  of  all  that  M.  Saintonge 
and  M.  Loui-dier  had  told  him." 

"  No,  sir.  When  M.  Valbrec  came  in  the  will  had 
been  already  executed,  and  was  on  the  table  where  you 
found  it.  George  was,  in  accordance  with  my  wish 
about  to  put  it  in  the  pocket-book,  which  he  had  taken 
out  of  the  strong-box  for  the  purpose,  where  you  have 
just  shut  it  up,  and  he  had  so  little  intention  of  hiding 
it  that  he  never  thought  of  concealing  it  when  his  fi'iend 
came  in." 

"  That  is  quite  true,"  said  Valbrec,  who  put  no  credit 
in  the  story  told  by  Cecile,  and  who  believed  that  she 
had  only  invented  it  for  the  purpose  of  screening  her 


THE  felon's  bequest.  239 

loTer;  but  the  fact  was  that  Cransac  had  given  her  the 
cue,  for  before  Valbrec's  visit  she  was  entirely  ignorant 
of  what  had  taken  place  at  Montmartre.  Certainly, 
George  had  spoken  to  her  regarding  his  detention  in 
Mazas,  but  he  had  not  said  a  word  of  the  note  he  had 
received  from  the  prisoner  whilst  he  was  taking  exercise, 
nor  had  he  said  a  word  of  the  hidden  treasure,  or  his 
nocturnal  excursions  to  Montmartre;  so  that  her  own 
ready  wit  had  prompted  her  to  manufacture  the  tale  she 
had  told  to  the  detective  with  the  slender  materials  at 
her  command.  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  was 
the  only  daughter  of  Benedict  Cambremer,  who  had  been 
robbed  of  a  sum  that  greatly  exceeded  the  amount  of  the 
claims  against  him;  and  she  knew  that  the  property  had 
never  been  recovered,  although  one  of  the  robbers  had 
been  arrested  and  convicted.  She,  therefore,  had 
always  entertained  a  hope  that  8on\e  day  the  lost  money 
might  come  to  light,  and  she  had  taken  it  into  her  head 
to  bequeath  any  such  sum  to  George  after  the  creditors 
had  been  paid  in  full.  She  had  resolved  to  tell  the 
whole  story  of  the  robbery  to  George  one  day,  but  up  to 
the  present  he  was  completely  ignorant  of  the  whole 
matter;  for  the  name  of  the  banker  to  whom  the  house 
at  Montmartre  had  belonged  had  never  been  pronounced 
in  his  hearing,  since  Lourdier  very  likely  was  ignorant 
of  it,  or  if  he  had  ever  known  it,  he  had  forgotten  it  by 
this  time. 

At  the  moment  when  Valbrec  rang  at  the  door,  Cecile 
had  recognized  the  initials  on  the  pocketbook,  and  had  at 
once  guessed  the  source  of  George's  fortune;  and  the 
narrative  by  Valbrec  of  the  search  and  inquiry  that  had 
been  made,  supplemented  as  it  was  by  disturbing  com- 
ments, had  sufficed  to  make  all  clear  to  her.  She  had 
been  unable  to  refrain  from  exclaiming  that  the  pocket- 
book  was  her  property,  and  this  imprudent  exclamation 
was  but  the  prelude  to  a  biirst  of  confidence  on  her  part, 
which  the  entrance  of  the  detective  had  interrupted. 
The  sub-inspector  had  at  once  flatly  accused  Cransac, 
and  Cecile  resolved  to  defend  her  lover  by  every  means 
in  her  power.  She  had  at  first  hit  upon  no  better  course 
than  to  declare  that  she  only  had  found  the  treasure, 
and  that  she  alone  was  responsible  for  the  sums  that  had 
been  taken  from  it.    But,  pressed  as  she  had  been  by  q, 


24:0  THE  felon's  bequest. 

skillfully-conducted  series  of  questions,  Cecile  soon  per- 
ceived that  she  had  made  a  false  step;  and,  suddenly 
changing  her  tactics,  she  made  up  her  mind  to  declare 
that  she  was  the  banker's  heiress,  and  that  ever  since 
her  father's  death  she  had  been  in  search  of  the  stolen 
money;  and  having  at  last  discovered  it,  she  had  en- 
treated George  Cransac  to  aid  her  in  removing  it  from 
its  hiding-place,  and  that  he  had  only  played  a  subor- 
dinate part  in  the  matter,  and  that  against  his  wUl. 
Whilst  she  imj^rovised  this  line  of  argument,  she  never 
took  her  eyes  off  George,  and  with  every  stealthy  glance 
that  she  cast  on  him  she  pleaded  to  him  not  to  contra- 
dict her,  and  she  felt  almost  hurt  at  not  being  able  to 
read  in  her  lover's  eyes  that  he  would  accept  this  act  of 
devotion  at  her  hands,  and  was  surprised  at  his  not 
uttering  a  single  word  to  confirm  the  statements  she  had 
made  to  prove  his  innocence. 

But  George's  heart  was  rent  by  two  opposing  feehngs: 
the  fear  of  injuring  Cecile  by  contradicting  the  statements 
she  had  made,  and  the  desire  of  taking  his  share  of  the 
responsibility  in  the  acts  for  which  they  were  both  to  be 
arraigned.  He  was  weai*y  of  giving  evasive  answers  to 
the  questions  put  to  him  by  the  detective  officer,  and  it 
was  repugnant  to  his  feelings  to  benefit  by  the  self-sacri- 
ficing falsehoods  of  Cecile;  and  had  he  not  been  afraid 
of  aggravating  her  position,  he  would  have  avowed  the 
whole  truth  at  once,  however  strange  his  tardy  confession 
might  apj)ear.  The  sub-inspector,  who  was  not  deficient 
in  sagacity,  had  j^artiall}^  guessed  the  position  of  affairs, 
and  felt  that  he  should  draw  nothing  from  a  woman  who 
was  resolute  in  her  defense  of  the  man  she  adored;  so, 
instead  of  pressing  her  with  any  further  questions,  he 
turned  again  to  George  Cransac. 

"  Your  mistress  is  an  excellent  special  pleader,"  said  he, 
with  a  half  smile,  "  but  we  are  not  yet  before  a  jury,  and 
it  is  for  you  to  justify  your  own  acts,  which  at  present 
you  have  not  attempted  to  do.  Up  to  this  time  you  have 
let  her  do  all  the  talking,  but  now  the  moment  has  arrived 
for  3  ou  to  explain  yourself." 

"Question  me,  and  I  will  reply,"  answered  Cransac, 
shortly. 

"  I  hope  you  will,  and  it  is  in  your  interest  that  I  do 
so.     It  may  be  that  the  lady  is  the  dau  ghter  of  M.  Cam- 


THE  felon's  bequest.  241 

bremer,  the  banker,  and  that  things  may  have  happened 
as  she  says."  It  was  the  first  time  in  the  course  of  the 
con-versation  that  he  had  referred  to  Cecile  as  a  lady. 
"But it  is  necessary  that  you  should  confirm  her  state- 
ment.   Is  it  correct  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Cransac.  Then,  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, he  added:  "  Only  she  has  not  told  all  1" 

"  Complete  her  statement,  then,"  said  the  detective. 

"I  killed  the  man!"  said  George,  resolutely." 

"  I  had  but  little  doubt  on  the  subject,  but  you  have 
done  well  to  confess  it,  and  it  wiU  be  considered  in  your 
favor.  I  can  now  understand  why  the  lady  said  nothing 
about  the  murder." 

"  She  knew  nothing  of  it." 

"What — ^was  she  not  present?" 

"  No,  sir;  and  you  can  easily  understand  that  I  said 
nothing  to  her  on  the  subject.  I  went  to  Montmartre  that 
night  alone.  Just  as  I  left  the  house,  I  was  attacked  in 
the  garden  close  to  the  terrace  by  a  man,  who  would  cer- 
tainly have  killed  me  had  I  not  sti*uck  him  down  with  a 
blow  of  my  stick." 

"  Then  you  assert  that  the  blow  was  struck  in  self- 
defence?" 

"  I  received  a  stab  from  a  knife  right  in  my  breast. 

"Rather  a  blirnt  knife,  I  expect,  for  you  were  not 
wounded,  I  presume." 

"  The  point  of  the  knife  was  stopped  by  the  pocket  book 
which  I  had  taken  from  the  hiding-place,  and  had  put 
inside  my  waistcoat.  You  can  see  the  perforation  in  it 
now,  if  you  will  examine  it." 

"It  shall  be  examined.  Why  did  this  man  attack 
you?" 

"  Because  he  had  seen  me  open  the  plate  in  the  chimney 
and  take  out  the  gold.  You  tell  me  now  that  this  is  the 
man  who  seven  years  ago,  robbed  M.  Cambremer's  bank. 
He  had  been  released  from  prison,  and  hoped  to  find  the 
treasure  untouched,  and  when  he  surprised  me  kneeling 
before  its  hiding-place  the  idea  of  putting  me  out  of  the 
■way  naturally  occurred  to  him.  He  had  crept  into  the 
garden  and  climbed  up  to  the  window.  I  caught  sight 
of  him,  and  he  fled  into  the  darkness  to  wait  for  me  in 
the  walk  on  the  right,  and  I  killed  him  in  self-defence; 


242  THE  felon's  bequest. 

and  since  I  have  learned  what  a  villian  he  was,  I  do  not 
regret  having  done  so." 

Overwhelmed  by  this  news  Cecile  listened  to  him  with 
a  kind  of  feverish  anxiety.  She  did  not  doubt  for  a 
moment  that  he  was  speaking  the  truth,  and  she  asked 
herself  whether  the  sub-inspector  would  think  the  same, 
and  from  the  expression  of  his  face  she  thought  that  he 
did  so.  All  that  noAV  remained  was  to  await  his  decision 
upon  both  their  cases  and  to  see  if  he  would  order  George's 
immediate  despatch  to  the  House  of  Detention.  She 
flattered  herself  that  he  was  going  to  leave  her  at  liberty, 
and  she  awaited  his  fiat  with  the  deepest  anxiety. 

The  sub-inspector  was  in  no  hurry  to  reply.  He  was 
reflecting  upon  the  informal  way  in  which  he  had  gone 
to  work  to  obtain  these  confessions,  and  regretted  that  he 
had  not  examined  George  and  Cecile  separately.  Carried 
away  by  the  excitement  and  interest  of  the  dialogue,  he 
perceived  too  late  that  all  Cransac  had  to  do  was  to  corn- 
form  his  answers  to  the  statements  made  by  Cecile. 
However,  as  he  was  not  deficient  in  experience  and  good 
sense,  he  saw  that  there  was  no  remedy  for  the  hann  that 
had  been  done,  and  besides,  he  began  to  think  that  the 
matter  was  not  so  serious  as  he  had  at  first  supposed  it 
to  be.  He  certainly  suspected  that  Cecile  and  George 
had  tacitly  arranged  matters  between  them  during  the 
examination,  but  the  foi-mer  had  certainly  not  invented 
the  story  of  her  right  to  the  money  that  had  been 
stolen  from  her  father.  These  assertions  were  very  easy  to 
verify,  and  if  she  were  reaUy  the  next-of-kin  to  the  banker, 
the  fact  of  her  having  taken  a  portion  of  the  treasure  to 
which  she  was  legitimately  entitled  would  not  constitute 
a  robbery  in  the  full  acceptation  of  the  word;  at  any  rate, 
there  would  be  extenuating  circumstances.  Then  the 
murder  of  the  man  called  Mahossier  was  not  a  very  great 
offence  if  as  seemed  most  probable,  Cransac  had  struck 
him  down  in  mere  self-defence. 

Valbrec,  who  had  played  the  j^art  of  a  mute  listener, 
looked  on  matters  in  nearly  a  similar  manner;  but  then 
he  had  no  voice  in  the  case,  although  his  evidence  might 
be  heard  later  on.  The  sub-inspector,  who  had  been 
charged  with  the  preliminary  inquiry,  had  resolved  to 
take  the  only  course  open  to  him — that  is  to  say,  to  con- 
duct George  to  the  office  of  the  examining  magistrate. 


THE  felon's  bequest.  243 

and  to  leave  his  two  subordinates  behind  him  to  watch  over 
the  strong  box  in  which  he  had  put  back  the  pocket-book 
containing  the  bank-notes,  and  also  over  Cecile,  though 
her  condition  entirely  prevented  her  from  attempting  to 
make  her  escape,  for  her  long  examination  had  almost 
worn  her  out 


CHAPTEE  XXXL 

tbotjillakd's  daughteb. 

The  sub-inspector  was  about  to  issue  orders  to  this 
effect  when  a  great  disturbance  was  heard  in  the  ante- 
room; slamming  of  doors,  scuffling  of  feet,  and  a  violent 
altercation  between  several  persons,  the  voice  of  one  of 
whom — a  woman's — rose  high  above  the  others,  and  it 
was  not  the  voice  of  Josephine  Sureau,  who  had  been 
sent  back  to  her  kitchen  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
ago. 

A  woman  burst  violently  into  the  room — a  woman 
whom  no  one  at  first  recognized,  for  she  was  closely 
veiled:  but  she  soon  displayed  a  countenance  of  singular 
beauty,  of  a  bold  and  masculine  type,  and  exclaimed:  "I 
say,  are  the  traps  here?  Those  long-legged  fellows 
wanted  to  stop  my  coming  in.  All  the  worse  for  them. 
I  knocked  them  about  right  and  left.  Here  I  am !  I 
came  to  see  you,  little  lady,  and  to  ask  you  to  forgive 
Pasha,  my  black-maned  Hon,  who  bit  you  yesterday.  It 
was  not  his  fault,  on  the  word  of  Cornelian,  and  I  have 
kicked  out  that  brute  Goliath,  who  shoved  you  against 
the  cage." 

The  sub-inspector  checked  this  flow  of  words  by  saying 
severely:  "  In  the  first  place,  who  are  you,  and  what  do 
you  want  ? " 

"  And  who  are  you,  may  I  ask  ?  "  retorted  the  mistress 
of  the  lions,  who  was  not  easily  alarmed. 

*'  I  am  a  sub-inspector  of  the  detective  department, 
and  I  have  the  right  to  question  you  as  much  as  I 
like." 

"  Ah,  then  you  are  the  chief  of  the  traps  in  the  ante- 
room, are  you  ?  Well,  I  can't  compliment  you  on  their 
manners;  but  I  ain't  a  bit  afraid  of  you,  for  I  have  a  clean 


244  THE  felon's  bequest. 

sheet  to  show.  These  gentleman  know  me,  and  M. 
Valbrec,  who  writes  in  the  paper,  can  tell  you  that  I  am 
an  actress  engaged  at  the  Porte  Saint  Martin  Theatre, 
with  all  my  beasts." 

The  detectire  was  half  inclined  to  have  her  turned  out, 
but  though  he  had  not  said  a  word  to  Cecile  on  the 
matter,  he  had  read  the  police  report  of  the  accident  to 
her  of  the  night  before,  and  he  wished  to  learn  more  on 
a  subject  which  might  be  a  future  subject  of  inquiry. 
Nothing  is  beneath  the  attention  of  a  detective,  who  by 
a  mere  fluke  may  often  pick  up  some  useful  information. 
He  therefore  decided  to  hear  what  Cornelian  had  to  say, 
who  still  continued  addressing  Cecile:  "You  must  be 
surprised  at  my  coming  to  see  you,  and  I  find  M.  Cransac 
is  the  more  surprised  of  the  two,  for  he  is  looking  very 
savagely  at  me,  and  he  has  probably  told  you  that  I 
hated  you  mortally  on  his  account."  Cecile  did  not 
understand  her,  for  George  had  never  said  a  word  to  her 
either  about  Cornelian  or  her  violent  method  of  making 
love.  "  "Well,"  continued  she,  "  that  was  true  enough 
yesterday,  but  it  is  all  over  now.  I  should  have  been 
regularly  knocked  over  if  Pasha  had  finished  you,  and 
the  proof  is  that  I  took  you  out  of  his  claws,  and  have 
come  to  see  how  you  were  getting  on.  The  doctor  told 
me  this  morning  that  you  had  been  brought  here,  and  I 
am  awfidly  glad  of  it,  for  now  I  am  sure  you  will  get 
over  it.  1  can  see  it  in  your  face.  Lor'  bless  you,  bites 
and  scratches  are  quite  in  my  line,  and  I'll  lay  my  life 
you'll  be  on  your  feet  again  shortly;  and  it  will  be  a  good 
thing,  for  you  are  a  great  deal  too  young  and  too  pretty 
to  end  as  I  shall  one  day  or  another.  It  is  my  business 
to  be  eaten,  but  I  don't  want  my  beasts  to  eat  any  one 
else.  And  now,  whilst  I  am  here,  I  want  to  tell  you  all 
that  I  have  on  my  mind." 

Valbrec  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  incoherent  speech 
of  this  charmer  of  beasts — and  men ;  and  George,  in  great 
anxiety,  wondered  what  on  earth  she  was  going  to  say. 

"  I  must  first,"  said  Cornelian,  "  expose  the  vileness  of  a 
woman  who  you  don't  know,  and  a  rogue  you  know  only 
too  weU.  Troche  and  Taupier  have  sold  you,  without 
your  leave  or  Hcense,  my  little  dear." 

"  Troche !  "  repeated  George,  who  had  some  vague  re- 
coUection  of  having  heard  the  name  somewhere. 


THE  felon's  bequest.  245 

"Yes,  Arthur  Troche,  the  villianwho  made  love  to  you. 
I  suppose  you  told  him  " — and  she  pointed  to  George — 
"  of  all  that,  but  what  he  doesn't  know  is,  that  that  same 
fine  Arthur  ought  to  have  gone  to  Mazas  in  his  place. 
The  rogue  tried  to  get  on  with  me,  because  his  JiiHet 
hasn't  got  two  sous  to  rub  together,  and  I  amused  myself 
by  making  him  talk.  I  can  tell  you  he  let  out  some 
queer  things." 

The  sub-inspector  was  all  attention  now,  for  in  con- 
sulting the  prison  register  he  found  that  George  had  been 
set  at  liberty  in  default  of  sufficient  evidence  to  waiTant 
his  being  committed  for  trial,  and  that  the  examining 
magistrate  had  expressed  his  opinion  that  it  was  a  case 
of  mistaken  identity,  and  that  there  must  be  some  one  in 
Paris  who  greatly  resembled  him.  He  also  remembered 
that  a  man  named  Troche  had  been  wanted  by 
the  poHce  for  various  swindles,  but  that  for  some  months 
past  they  had  lost  all  trace  of  him. 

"  You  don't  want  me  to  beUeve,"  said  he,  turning  to 
Cornelian,  "that  this  man  has  boasted  to  you  of  his 
crimes." 

" Crimes !"  repeated  she.  "Not  such  a  fool  as  that; 
he  only  said  that  he  had  played  a  trick  on  the  traps,  and 
that  he  would  play  them  many  another  before  he  had 
done  with  them.  Then  he  began  talking  of  M.  Cransac, 
who  had  been  quodded  on  suspicion  of  forgery,  and 
then  I,  who  knew  my  gentleman,  guessed  the  answer  to 
the  whole  bag  of  tricks." 

"  And  what  was  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  that  those  who  swore  to  M.  Cransac,  took  him 
for  that  hound  of  an  Arthur,  who  is  as  like  him  as  two 
peas,  especially  since  Arthur  has  let  his  whiskers  sprout 
again,  for  he  cut  them  off  after  cashing  the  forged  paper. 
Ah !  he  is  a  rogue  and  a  boaster,  but  he  came  to  the 
wrong  shop  when  he  boasted  of  it  to  me,  and,  as  you  say 
you  are  one  of  the  force,  I  hope  you  will  nab  him.  It 
was  a  precious  lucky  thing  for  you  all,  it  seems,  that  I 
came  here  this  morning." 

Cecile  was  of  the  same  opinion,  and  in  her  heart  she 
blessed  Cornelian,  although  it  had  wounded  her  deeply 
to  hear  the  name  of  the  man  upon  whom  she  had  so 
foolishly  lavished  the  blossom  of  her  first  love,  mentioned 
before  George. 


24:6  THE  felon's  bequest. 

The  sub-inspector  was  also  rejoiced  at  Cornelian's 
visit,  for  he  saw  his  way  to  profit  by  her  information,  and 
to  lay  hands  upon  a  rogue  who  has  laughed  at  the  police 
for  so  long. 

"  "Where  does  this  man  Troche  live  ?  " 

"That  I  can't  tell  you,"  answered  she.  "He  has  been 
once  or  twice  to  wait  for  me  at  the  stage  door,  and  has 
tried  to  spoon  me  again,  but  I  sent  him  off  with  a  flea  in 
his  ear,  so  I  hardly  cared  to  ask  his  address.  "Why 
should  I?  I  wasn't  going  to  leave  a  card  on  him,  and 
those  kind  of  people  generally  live  in  no  man's  land." 

"  But  he  doesn't  sleep  under  the  dry  arches  of  the 
bridges,  I  suppose.  Everybody  has  some  kind  of 
home." 

"  Well,  he  used  to  hang  about  at  Juliet's,  but  for  the 
last  few  days  she  has  been  on  the  streets,  and  I  expect 
her  creditors  would  have  showed  him  the  door;  but  you 
may  be  sure  he  made  a  bolt  in  time,  like  rats,  who,  they 
say,  leave  a  sinking  ship." 

"  But  you  have  seen  him  since  he  left  that  girl,  and  I 
suppose  he  told  you  some  of  his  business  ?  " 

"He  said  that  he  was  doing  some  dirty  work  for  a 
foreigner  in  the  Avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  Marquis 
the  G-eneral  Simancas.  Arthur  rolled  out  mouthfuls 
about  this  Spaniard;  but  I  have  an  idea  that  he  ain't  up 
to  much,  this  supposed  general." 

"Never  mind  what  he  is,"  returned  the  detective;  "we 
shall  learn  from  him  where  this  Troche  lives,  and  I'll  have 
him  looked  after  at  once.  Are  you  ready  to  give  evidence 
before  a  magistrate  ?  " 

"  Whenever  you  like." 

"  It  may  be  to-day;  where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  Since  I  have  been  playing  at  the  Porte  Saint  Martin 
I  have  taken  a  furnished  room  at  29,  RuedeLancy;  before 
that  I  lived  in  the  menagerie  with  the  other  beasts." 

"  Are  you  living  alone  ?  " 

"  What  a  blessed  foolish  question  1  No,  no,  I  don't  like 
double  harness;  I  am  too  fond  of  my  liberty  for  that." 

"Very  good:  now  your  name,  if  you  j)lease  ?" 

"  Cornelian,  of  course;  it  is  well  enough  known,  and  is 
printed  in  whacking  big  letters  on  the  posters." 

"  Cornelian  is  evidently  an  assumed  name.  I  want  your 
real  one — ^the  one  in  your  certificate  of  birth." 


THE  felon's  bequest.  247 

"Euphemia,  then;  I  never  liked  it  a  bit,  and  changed  it 
when  I  began  to  work  the  fair  racket." 

"Euphemia;  that  is  your  Christian  name.  I  want  to 
know  your  surname," 

"  Oh  1  I  never  make  use  of  that." 

"Why?" 

"  Well,  I  ain't  over  proud  of  it;  first,  because  it  ain't  a 
pretty  one,  and  then " 

"Well,  then?" 

"WeU,  it  is  no  good  hiding  things  from  you.  Tou 
belong  to  the  traps,  and  will  know  everything  sooner  or 
later,  even  if  I  refuse  to  tell  you  now.  Well,  the  old  man 
took  our  name  into  all  sorts  of  bad  places,  and  I  never 
did  any  harm  myself." 

"  Go  on,  you  can't  help  your  father's  faults.  What  ia 
your  name  ?  " 

"  Euphemia  TrouiUard." 

"  TrouiUard  !  "  repeated  the  sub-inspector.  "  Are  you 
Pierre  Trouillard's  daughter  ?  " 

"Yes,  lam." 

"  Do  you  know  where  your  father  is  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  can  precious  well  guess.  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  his  history  and  mine  at  once,  and  then  the  beaks 
won't  bother  me  any  more.  This  is  it :  He  was  an  engi- 
neer by  trade,  and  made  his  fifteen  fi'ancs  per  day.  My 
mother  worked  hard  too,  and  so  I  was  brought  up  like  a 
little  queen.  I  was  twelve  when  she  died.  Then  the  old  man 
took  to  lushing;  he'd  come  home  as  screwed  as  a  boiled 
owl  every  night,  and  pitch  into  me  like  anything.  I  stood 
it  for  three  years,  but  one  night  he  didn't  come  back,  for 
he  had  got  locked  up,  I  never  knew  why.  Well,  then  I 
found  myself  on  my  own  hook,  with  one  dress  to  my  back, 
and  nothing  to  stick  my  teeth  into.  Of  course  it  ended 
like  such  things  always  end." 

"You  took  a  lover?" 

"  Yes;  I  knew  a  chap  that  went  round  the  fairs  with  a 
cart-load  of  beasts.  He  proposed  that  I  should  go  with 
him,  and  learn  his  business.  I  went  off,  and  we  paddled 
our  own  canoe  together,  until  a  black  panther  fini^ed  him 
up;  but  he  had  time  to  make  his  will,  and  he  left  me  th« 
menagerie,  which  was  worth  money.  Now  I  want  no  one, 
and  do  as  I  like;  but  if  the  old  'un  knew  it " 


248  THE  felon's  bequest. 

"He  would  iJry  to  live  on  you;  but  don't  be  afraid 
he  will  have  board  and  lodging  for  the  rest  of  his  life." 

"Oh!  I  understand;  he  is  a  hfer.  All  the  worse  for 
him;  he  shouldn't  have  done  it.  Well,  I  can't  do  any- 
thing." 

"  Then  don't  you  want  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Not  I,  it  wouldn't  be  over  cheerful ;  but  as  I  have 
the  ill  luck  to  be  his  daughter  I'll  send  him  a  hundred 
francs  a  month  when  once  he  is  across  the  water.  He 
will  be  pleased,  and  so  shall  I — that  is,  to  have  got  rid  of 
him." 

This  cynical  speech  had  no  effect  upon  the  sub-in- 
spector, for  he  had  heard  many  such.  "Very  weU," 
returned  he,  "  you  shan't  be  confronted  with  him  before 
he  is  sent  away,  but  you  certainly  wiU  be  with  Troche 
as  soon  as  he  is  caught.  You  may  go  now  if  you 
like." 

The  Lion  Queen  was  glad  enough  to  do  so;  not  that 
she  repented  the  good  impulse  which  had  urged  her  to 
go  and  inquire  after  Cecile,  and  she  thought  that  in 
denouncing  Arthur  she  had  made  up  for  any  fault  she 
might  have  committed,  but  she  was  pleased  to  get  out 
of  the  hornet's  nest  of  police  into  which  she  had  thrust 
her  head  unconsciously.  "  Get  well  quickly,  little  lady," 
said  she,  "and  good-bye,  all,"  added  she,  bowing  on  all 
sides,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do  when  her  perform- 
ances were  concluded. 

When  she  had  left,  the  sub-inspector,  who  had  now 
made  up  his  mind,  spoke  at  once.  "  Sir,"  said  he  to 
Cransac,  "  I  now  know  all  that  I  wish  to  know,  and  I 
confess  that  the  appearance  of  the  affair  is  greatly 
changed.  The  examining  magistrate  will  estimate  the 
report  that  I  have  to  make  at  its  proper  value,  and 
it  is  for  him  to  decide  your  lot.  Will  you  therefore 
come  with  me  to  his  office,  where  he  is  waiting  for 
you?" 

"  I  am  quite  ready,"  answered  George,  firmly. 

"  I  shall  take  away  the  key  of  the  strong-box,  in  which 
I  have  placed  the  notes,  and  MUe.  Cambremer's  wilL 
I  leave  my  subordinates  behind  me  to  take  charge  of  it. 
I  have  a  cab  waiting,  and  we  will  go  off  alone.  It  is 
quite  unnecessary  for  any  one  in  the  house  to  know  that 
you  are  even  temporarily  under  arrest." 


THE  felon's  bequest.        249 

These  words  were  of  good  omen,  and  Cecile  expe- 
rienced a  feeling  of  relief  in  hearing  them,  whilst  Val- 
brec  began  to  hope  that  his  friend  would  be  able 
to  extricate  himself  from  his  unpleasant  position. 

"  May  I  remain  with  the  lady  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  I  see  no  objection,"  answered  the  detective,  whose 
manner  had  grown  much  more  polite;  "  and  if  M.  Cran- 
sac  would  like  to  kiss  her  before  he  leaves,  I  shall  not 
prevent  him." 

Cransac  at  once  availed  himself  of  this  license  and 
hastened  to  kiss  away  the  tears  that  bathed  her  cheeks, 
whilst  she  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  Not  a  word  of  contradiction  as  to  what  I  said,  for  if 
you  injure  yourself  I  shall  die." 

At  this  supreme  moment,  when  she  felt  her  strength 
faiUng  her,  the  sole  idea  of  the  noble  girl  was  to  save  her 
lover,  whom  she  dreaded  never  to  see  again. 

"  Come,  sir,"  said  Greorge,  rising  to  his  feet,  "  let  us 

go." 

"  I  shall  see  you  again  soon,  I  hope,"  cried  Valbrec. 

George  warmly  shook  the  friendly  hand  that  was 
extended  to  him,  and  left  the  room  with  the  sub-in- 
spector of  the  detective  department. 


250  IHE  felon's  bequest. 


EPILOGUE. 

A  YEAR  had  passed  since  the  events  we  have  recounted, 
and  Paris  has  forgotten  them  as  quickly  as  it  has  others 
which  made  an  equal  noise  at  the  time.  They  occupied 
for  a  short  period  a  sjDace  in  the  papers,  and  gave  several 
reporters  a  chance  of  putting  in  copy;  but  they 
lacked  the  great  dramatic  conclusion  of  the  Court  of 
Assizes. 

George  Cransac  was  taken  before  a  clear-sighted  mag- 
istrate, who,  after  a  calm  and  unbiassed  re^iewal  of  the 
case,  decided  that  there  was  no  necessity  to  seud  him  for 
trial  upon  either  of  the  offences  laid  to  his  charge.  It 
was  proved  that  Cransac,  in  killing  Mahossier,  had  not 
exceeded  the  limits  of  legitimate  self-defence,  and  the 
generous  declaration  of  Cecile  had  considerably  weak- 
ened the  case  against  him  of  having  appropriated  any 
portion  of  the  contents  of  the  hiding-place.  The  noble 
girl  had  taken  all  upon  herself,  and  it  might  have  gone 
hard  with  her,  for  she  had  confessed  that  she  had  applied 
to  her  personal  requirements  a  portion  of  the  sum  Which 
had  formerly  been  stolen  from  her  father  before  he 
had  settled  with  his  creditors.  But,  on  an  inquiry  being 
opened,  and  the  bankrupt's  accounts  having  been  again 
gone  into,  it  was  found  that  his  debts  only  amounted  to 
nine  hundred  thousand  francs,  reduced  to  six  hundred 
thousand  by  the  sale  of  his  jDroperty.  The  result,  how- 
ever was,  that'Cecile  Cambremer  f oimd  that  after  clearing 
her  father's  good  name,  she  was  left  in  possession  of  more 
than  a  million. 

Whilst  this  inqvdry  was  going  on,  the  magistrate  had 
permitted  her  as  a  favor,  taking  into  consideration  the 
terrible  injuries  that  she  had  sustained,  to  remain  in  her 
own  house,  whilst  Cransac,  who  had  only  received  a  blow 
from  the  lion's  claw,  spent  fifteen  days  in  Mazas  before 
he  was  again  discharged  from  want  of  sufficient  e\idence; 
but  this  time  he  went  forth  a  perfectly  'free  man,  as  far 
as  the  accusations  of  uttering  a  false  check,  for  his 
villainous  double,  Arthur  Troche,  having  been  arrested, 
on  the  information  furnished  by  the  Lion  Queen,  and 
recognized  by  all  the  witnesses  who  had  formerly  given 


THE  felon's  bequest.  251 

evidence  against  George  Cransac,  had  ended  by  confess- 
ing bis  crime,  and  Avas  sentenced  to  five  years'  penal 
servitude.  So  that  George  had  suffered  a  great  deal  for 
a  crime  that  he  had  never  committed,  and  very  little  for 
an  act  of  culpable  weakness  against  which  his  better 
nature  had  all  along  warned  him. 

Cecile  had  made  him  her  heir,  so  that  he  might  be  able 
to  enjoy  the  fortune  which  he  had  been  weak  enough  to 
use  before  it  was  reaUy  his.  But  Cecile  was  not  dead 
but  living,  and  avus  only  anxious  that  George  should 
share  with  her  tbe  heritage  which  had  come  to  her  from 
her  father.  But  to  do  that  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  marry  her,  and  this  marriage  has  not  yet  taken 
place.  Cecile  feels  that  George  cannot  love  her  more 
than  he  does  now,  and  he,  on  his  part,  hesitates  to  marry 
her  now  that  she  is  a  great  heiress,  and  is  waiting  until 
he  shall  have  something  of  his  own  to  contribute  to  their 
mutual  expenses. 

Meanwhile  he  is  working  on  Valbrec's  paper,  who  has 
remained  his  friend,  although  he  has  never  learned  the 
whole  truth.  Valbrec  knows  the  world,  and  is  not  too 
harsh  on  backsliders. 

Although  now  a  millionaire,  Cecile  has  not  abandoned 
her  business,  only  she  no  longer  works  with  her  own  hands. 
She  has  given  the  superintendence  over  to  Josephine 
Sureau,  and  the  business  is  going  on  well.  In  spite  of 
the  sinister  prognostications  of  the  doctor,  Cecile  did  not 
lose  her  arm,  although  she  underwent  several  severe  and 
painful  operations.  George  and  she  loved  each  other  as 
much  as  they  ever  did  before  the  catastrophe  overwhelmed 
them,  which  threatened  at  one  time  to  separate  them  for- 
ever. Nothing  is  wanting  to  their  happiness,  save  wed- 
lock and  one  of  those  tender  pledges  that  unite  two  fond 
hearts  still  more  fondly  together,  and  if  one  of  these  should 
come  it  will  be  after  their  union  shall  been  legahzed  rapidly. 

Cornelian's  fortunes  have  been  of  a  different  nature. 
After  a  long  series  of  brilliant  performances,  she  won  the 
heart  of  the  Marquis  de  Simancas,  who  never  missed  one 
of  them,  and  who  greedily  took  the  bait  she  held  out. 
This  tormentor  of  the  fair  sex  was  seized  with  a  mad  pas- 
sion for  the  Lion  Queen,  but  he  had  to  lavish  showers  of 
gold  on  her  before  she  would  deign  to  look  on  him.  She 
finished  by  yielding  at  last,  and  has  taken  up  her  residence 


252  THE  felon's  bequest. 

in  the  house  in  the  Avenue  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
where  she  uses  her  whip  upon  him  as  freely  as  ever  she 
did  upon  any  of  her  lions.  And  this  vile  man,  whose 
sole  delight  was  in  torturing  others,  gives  in  to  her,  and 
submits  to  her  caprices  and  insults  in  the  most  slavish 
manner.  Cornelian  is  unfaithful  to  him  in  the  most  open 
way  with  the  clown  of  a  circus,  and  she  has  forced  the 
marquis  to  have  her  menagerie  kept  in  his  garden,  where 
she  every  now  and  then  gives  performances  to  her  mounte- 
bank lover  and  his  friends,  at  which  Simancas  is  com- 
pelled to  be  present.  "When  she  has  completely  ruined 
him  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  she  will  have  him  devoured  by 
her  terrible  favorites;  but  until  this  happens,  she  contents 
herself  with  making  the  marquis  send  heavy  sums  every 
month  to  her  convict  father  in  Noumea.  This  old  villian 
was  condemned  to  penal  servitude  for  life,  although  he 
completely  proved  that  he  was  innocent  of  the  murder  of 
the  bank  messenger ;  before  he  left  he  was  reconciled  to 
his  daughter.  Cornelian,  and,  thanks  to  her,  his  old  age 
will  not  be  an  uncomfortable  one.  Juliet  went  from  bad 
to  worse,  and  now  earns  the  scanty  wages  of  infamy  on 
the  streets;  and  if  she  ever  comes  across  Simancas  he  is 
not  the  man  to  bestow  an  alms  on  her. 

Cecile  Cambremer  has  had  ample  revenge. 

George  Cransac  has  expiated  his  faults,  and  his  end 
will  be  better  than  his  commencement. 

He  has  never  found  out  who  his  parents  were,  nor  is  it 
likely  that  he  will  ever  do  so — such  miracles  are  rare  now- 
a-days,  though  it  was  one  that  put  that  noble  girl  Cecile 
Cambremer  in  possession  of  her  father's  property.  But 
George  will  never  find  his  relations;  and  what  need  has 
he  of  relatives  or  ancestors,  whilst  he  is  happy  in  the  love 
of  his  own  Cecile  ? 


THE  END. 


STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  SPELLING. 


FIRST  LESSON. 

A  vrealthy  young  man  had  a  yacht, 
Disfigured  -writh  many  a  spacht, 
SAPOLIO  he  triad, 
Which,  as  soon  as  applied, 
Immediately  took  out  the  lacht ! 

SECOND  LESSON. 
Our  girl  o'er  the  housework  would 

sigh, 
Till  SAPOLIO  I  urged  her  to  trigh. 
Now  she  changes  her  tune. 
For  she's  done  work  at  nune, 
Which  accounts  for  the  light  in  her 
eigh  ! 

THIRD  LESSON. 

There's  many  a  domestic  embroglio— 
To  describe  w^hich  would  need  quite 
a  foglio. 
Might  oft  be  prevented 
If  the  housewife  consented 
To  clean   out  the  house  with  SA- 
POGLIO ! 


FOURTH   LESSON. 

Maria's  poor  fingers  would  ache. 
When  "the   housework  in  hand  sh  ' 
would  tache. 

But  her  pains  were  allayed, 

When  SAPOLIO'S  aid. 
Her  labor  quite  easy  did  mache ! 

FIFTH  LESSON. 

We  have  heard  of  some  •naavelous 
Eoaps, 

Whose  worth  has  exceeded  our  Ii^ ^ps. 
But  it  must  be  confest, 
That  SAPOLIO'S  the  best 

For  "with  grease  spots  it  easily  coaps! 

SIXTH  LESSON. 

The  wife  of  e,  popuiar  colonel 
Whose  troubles  with  "helps"  were 
etolonel 
Now  her  leisure  enjoys 
For  the  "  new  girl "  employs 
SAPOLIO  in  housework  diolonel! 


INTESTINAL  TORPOR  AND  KINDRED  EVILS 

Relieved  'WitHont  Drugs. 

The  sufferer  from  Constipation  and  Piles  (should  test  tbe  fiLUTEN  SUPP08I- 
TOKIKM  which  cure  most  cases  by  inckeasing  the  stjTBTrioN  of  thk  pabts,  thus 
inducing  desire  and  strengthening  the  power  of  expulsion. 

— OREAD    THE    EVIDENCE. [: 

Db.  a.  W.  Thompson,  Northampton,  llass..  says:  'I  have  tested  the  Gluten  Supposi^ 
tories.  and  consider  them  valuable,  as,  indeed,  I  expected  from  the  excellence  of  their 
theory." 

Da.  Wm.  Ton  HELMtTTH  declares  the  Gluten  Suppositories  to  be  "  the  best  remedy  for 
constipation  which  I  have  ever  prescribed." 

•  •  As  Sancho  Pauza  said  of  sleep,  so  say  I  of  your  Gluten  Suppositories:  God  bless 
the  man  who  invented  them  !"— E.  L.  Ripixy,  Burlington.  Vt. 

"I  have  been  a  constipated  dyspeptic  for  many  years,  and  the  effect  ha.s  been  to  reduce 
me  in  flesh,  and  to  render  me  liable  to  no  little  nerve  ^jrostration  and  sleeplessness,  i  .•*■ 
pecially  after  preaching  or  any  special  mental  effort.  The  use  of  Gluten  Suppositorit-s. 
made  by  the  Health  Food  Co.,  74  Fourth  Avenue,  New  York,  has  relieved  the  constipaled 
habit,  and  their  Gluten  and  Brain  Food  have  secured  for  nie  new  powers  of  digestion, 
and  the  ability  to  sleep  soundly  and  think  clearly.  I  helieve  their  food-remedies  to  beviT- 
thy  of  the  high  praise  which  they  are  receiving  on  all  sides."— Rev.  John  H.  Paton,  Mich 

"I  cannot  speak  too  highly  of  the  Health  Food  Company's  Gluten  Suppositories,  a-* 
they  have  been  a  perfect  God-send  to  me.  I  believe  them  supeiior  to  anything  evpr 
devised  for  the  relief  of  constipation  and  hemorrhoids.  I  have  suffered  from  these 
evils  more  than  twenty  years,  and  have  at  last  found  substantial  relief  through  the 
use  of  the  Gluten  Suppositories."— Cyrus  BBADBtTRY.  Hopedale,  Mass. 

Send  for  all  our  HE.4i.Tll  FOOD    1>1TERATURE. 

HEA^LTH     FOOD     C01VIF.ANY, 
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COMMON     COMPLAINTS,   M 
HOW  TO  CURE  THEM7-ByX  ^"^ 

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Without  a  teacher,— A  practical  element? 
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remedies 
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and,ventrlloaul8t's  ,Culde.   sya  s^ 

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COMPLETE  GUIDE.- A  practical  man- 
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FRENCH  IN  A  FORTNICHT,wlth- 

OUt  a  master.— A  royal  r..aa  toaknowlfdge 
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^lUC'PitfTS    OF.  AMERICAN 

CAMP-LIFE.— A  coll.  ction  of  tra^c,  patbet; 

Ic,  ana  nunK>rou5  eveiits,  wbich  ) 
^ring  the  late 


toMI 


FORTUNETELLINC  MADE  EASY 

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THE  ART  OF  SELF-DEFENSE:  or. 

Boxing  without  a  Master.— >vith  fortf 

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a  THE  ART  OF  BEAUTIFYING  AND 
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ous occasions.  Including  speeches  and  repllea 
at  dinners,  receptions,  festivals,  political  meetings 
military  reviews,  firemen's  gatherings,  and  Indeed 
wherever  and  whenever  any  party,  large  or  small, 
is  gathered  to  dine,  to  mourn,  to  congratulate,  or 
•  to  rejoice.  Appended  to  which  are  forms  of^aU 
kinds  of  resolutions,  tc,  with  a  great  uiuuber  of 
sentiments  and  toasts. 

,  Theatricals  at  Home:  or.  Plays 

for  the  Parlor.  Plainly  teacbmg  how  to  otku, 
make  op,  study,  and  perform  at  private  theatrical 
parries.  To  Which  are  added  bow  to  arrange  an^ 
display  tableaux  vivants,  shadow  pantomiraea. 
drawing-room  magic  acting  charades,  conan. 
drums,  enigmas,  j^c.with  explanatory  engravings 

Snip,  Snap,  Snorum,  arid  nearly 

one  hunured  other  parlor  games,  suchas  juveuila 
card-games,  games  of  forfeits,  games  of  action, 
games  with  pen  and  pencil  Including  many  new 
and  all  the  old  favorite  amusements  calculated  Ut 
make  home  happy  and  set  the  yotmgsters scream- 
ing wild  with  innocent  dehght. 

The  Art  of  Cannlrig,P!ckllnKiand 

smoking  the  various  kinds  of  Meat,  risn,  and 
Game,  Also,  how  to  preserve  and  keep,  fresh  and 
full  of  flavor,  fruita,  berries,  and  vegetables.  To 
which  is  added  complete  directions  for  making 
candies  and  choice  confections. 

,^  Fishing  with  Hook  and  LJne.-TWa 

book  gives  plain  and  lull  directions  for  catching 
all  the  different  kinds  of  fish  found  in  American 
waters ;  the  proper  season  for  fishing  for  then^ 
and  the  bait,  tackle.  Sic,  to  be  osed. 

Honest  Abe's  joKss.— >  collection  si 
•ubeutic  7 oua  ana  a^uM  «»  AteabttB  J 


ROLLIN'S  ANCIENT  HISTORY. 

ANCIENT  HISTORY  OF  THE  EGYPTIANS,  CARTHAGE- 

NIANS,  ASSYRIANS,  BABYLONIANS,  MEDES  AND  PER- 
SIANS, GRECIANS,  AND  MACEDONIANS.  By  Chaelbs  Rollin. 
In  one  large  quarto  volume  of  over  1200  double-column  pages,  large  clear  type, 
good  paper  and  printing.    Uliistrated.    Price,  cloth,   $2.50 
For  more  than  a  hundred  years  Eollin's  Ancient  IIistort  haa  ranked  with  the  best  of  historical 
worlts.    The  author  haa  been  especially  noted  for  the  intense  interest  with  which  he  clothei  his  sub- 
ject, so  that  his  liistory  has  found  its  way  into  the  homos  of  the  unlearned,  as  well  aa  Into  the  library 
of  the  scholar.    The  present  edition  is  the  latest,  handsomest,  and  best  published  in  thii  country,  h«T» 
Ing  all  the  notes  and  corrections. 

WORKS  OF  FLAYIDS  JOSEPflDS. 

THE  WORKS   OF  FLAVIUS  JOSEPHUS,  COMPRISDK, 

THE  ANTiaUITIES  OF  THE  JEWS,  A  HISTORY  OF  TS^ 
JEWISH  WARS,  and  a  Life  of  Josephus,  written  by  himself.  Also,  disseii. 
tions  concerning  Jesus  Christ,  John  the  Baptist,  James  the  Just,  God's  CommariL 
to  Abraham,  &c.    Translated  by  William  Whiston,  together  "with  numeroua 
explanatory  notes,  a  complete  index,  &c.    In  one  large  octavo  volnmo  of  880 
double-column  pages.    Cloth,  price  $2 .  50 
The  'Works  of  Flavios  Josephus,  translated  by  Whiston,  is  a  title  familiar  to  erery  one.  Ai  a  book 
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much  the  best  edition  in  the  market,  and  cheaper  than  the  very  cheapest. 

lACAULAY'S  HISTORY  of  ENGLAND 

THE  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,  FROM  THE  ACCESSION 

OF  JAMES  THE  SECOND.  By  Thomas  Babington  Macaui^t.  This 
is  a  new  edition  of  this  well-known  standard  work,  printed  from  new  electrotype 
plates,  in  the  popular  12mo  form,  and  is  without  doubt  the  best  of  the  cheaper 
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Macaulay's  History  of  England  has  been  Justly  called  a  great  national  work.  Its  power,  wisdom, 
and  success,  command  unfeigned  admiration.  Every  page  bears  testimony  to  a  degree  of  conscientious 
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and  uniform,  the  stream  of  thought  continues  to  flow  without  apparent  effort,  with  no  flurries  to  mar 
its  dignified  course. 

FROISSART'S    CHRONICLES. 

CHRONICLES    OF  ENGLAND,   FRANCE,    SPAIN,    AND 

THE  ADJOINING-  COUNTRIES,  from  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of 
Edward  II.  to  the  Coronation  of  Henry  Iv.    By  Sir  John  Fkoissart.    Trans- 
lated from  the  French,  with  variations  and  additions  from  many  celebrated  man- 
uscripts.   By  Thomas  Johnes,  Esq.    To  which  are  prefixed  a  life  of  the  author, 
an  essay  on  his  works,  and  a  criticism  on  his  history,  with  an  original  introduc- 
tory essay  on  the  character  and  society  of  the  middle  ages.  By  John  Lokd,IiL.D. 
Illustrated,  imperial,  8vo,  double  column,  cloth.    Price  $2. 50 
This  is  a  work  that  haa  been  and  always  will  be  largely  read  and  admired  by  the  gallant  BtripUng  as 
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Days  of  Chivalry.    Written  by  one  who  had  himself  rode  in  the  lists,  armed  cap-a-pie,  and  stood  tho 
ihock  of  horse  to  horse  and  man  to  man.    This  edition,  the  most  perfect  one  ever  issued,  is  richly  lllua- 
tratod  by  115  appropriate  engravings. 


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